


See It My Way

by QueenofThyme



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Mutual Pining, Potions Accident, Redemption, Soulmates, Voyeurism, eighth year
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-12
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-04-21 22:33:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 23,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14294901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenofThyme/pseuds/QueenofThyme
Summary: Eighth year, sworn enemies, and a potion that forces them to see from each other’s point of view. Quite Literally. Will it be enough to bring Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter together? Spoiler: yes.





	1. Chapter 1

Draco picked up his books from what he thought was his safe invisible corner and joined Potter in the front row. Potter didn’t look up as he sat down. 

Trust Professor Milligan to insist on everyone having a Potions partner on the one day Potter was without his Weasel. Draco had been doing quite fine by himself all year. Now, he was expected to work with Harry Potter? How fucking inspired. 

“So where’s the Weasel?”

Potter looked up in surprise, his mouth forming a small ‘O’. Draco filed that away for a wank later. He was only human. 

“Ron’s sick.”

“Sick of you or sick of living in poverty?” 

Potter’s face twisted, not in the anger Draco loved to see flare up, but in disgust. “Shove off, Malfoy.”

“Gladly,” Draco snapped back, something inside his chest deflating at Potter’s expression. “After I make this potion.”

“After _we_ make this potion,” Potter corrected. 

“Actually, there’s no _we_ , Potter. I’m going to skilfully create this potion to absolute perfection and you’re going to watch with no input because I can’t have you fucking up my grade.”

Potter didn’t like that. “What about _my_ grade?”

“Your grade will inflate from my Potions expertise and you won’t even have to lift a finger,” Draco explained as he pre-heated the cauldron between them. He tried to check the temperature in his Potions book but Potter snatched it up. Draco lunged for it. “I don’t see why you’re even arguing with me.”

“Because you’re being a prick,” Potter said, holding the book out of reach. 

“Well, you’re being difficult.”

“ _I’m_ being difficult? You won’t let me do anything.”

“Because you’ll fuck it up.”

“I won’t,” Potter argued.

“You will. And you know it. You’re just arguing with me for the sake of arguing.”

“So are you!”

“No, I’m trying to maintain my Outstanding grade. Do keep up, Potter.”

“Fine,” Potter said, slamming Draco’s book on the table. “Do whatever you want. I’ll just sit here.”

Draco rolled his eyes. Any other student (with the exception of perhaps Granger) would have jumped at the deal Draco had offered. “You might as well make yourself useful and pull the ingredients from the pantry.”

Potter laughed. “Oh, so now you want my help?”

“I don’t want your help, just your use as a courier owl,” Draco said, only to be contrary. Riling Potter up usually brightened Draco’s mood, if only for a fleeting moment.

Potter snorted and crossed his arms. “No.”

“ _Potter_.”

“You distinctly said there’s no ‘we’. You wanted to make the Potion on your own. You fetch the ingredients.”

Draco realised Potter was being serious. 

“Fuck you, Potter,” he muttered as he stomped off to the Potions pantry. 

 

* * *

 

Draco let his eyes dart back between his currently cooling potion and work desk, searching for the next and final ingredient: white horse hairs.

“Fuck.”

Potter didn’t look up from his doodles. He’d been drawing snakes. Odd. 

“Fuck,” Draco repeated.

“What do you want?” Potter asked with a heavily unnecessary sigh. 

“We’re missing the white horse hairs. Since you’re not doing anything of use, can you get off your lazy ass and grab some from– “

“No.”

“Potter,” Draco said, keeping his eyes on the potion, “if I let this potion cool for too long, it’s going to turn fuchsia and we’ll have little hope of even scraping an Acceptable grade. So, unless you want to kiss your dreams of becoming an Auror goodbye, you’ll get me those horse hairs.” He risked a look over at Potter. “And quickly.”

“Only if you admit you need my help,” Potter said, looking pleased with himself.

“Yes,” Draco said, allowing his impatience to soak his tone. “I need your help. I literally just asked you for assistance. Hurry the fuck up.”

Potter’s smug look disappeared and he trudged – much too slowly – to the pantry.

Draco refocused his attention on the potion. It had turned into a deep shade of purple which meant it was time to commence stirring. Draco did so carefully, once clockwise, twice anti-clockwise, once clockwise, thrice anti-clockwise, once clockwise, four times anti-clockwise, once–

Potter slumped back into the seat beside Draco with another unnecessary sigh. 

“Chop them finely,” Draco said quickly, not wanting to lose count. He heard Potter grumbling beside him but he blocked it out. Anyone who underestimated the importance of a perfect stir was an idiot. 

The potion was now lavender. Once the horse hairs were added, it would turn into a soft periwinkle blue and they’d have an Outstanding level potion. Thanks to Draco, obviously. 

“You can add the hairs now,” Draco said to Potter, taking a small step back. He couldn’t do much to sabotage the potion now anyway.

Potter lifted up the chopping board and starting scraping the hairs in. Draco noted they were cut a little uneven but let it go, knowing it would be unlikely to affect– _fuck._ Draco spotted it too late: the telltale iridescent sheen of the hairs.

“Potter, stop,” he called out reflexively but the damage was already done.

Potter turned around, oblivious. “What’s wrong?”

Draco took in four deep breaths, reached acceptance that the potion was irreparably ruined and backtracked to anger. “Tell me, Potter," he said through gritted teeth, “what kind of hairs did I ask you to get?”

“Horse hairs?”

“So,” Draco said, attempting to keep his voice level, "why the _fuck_ did you just dunk a handful of unicorn hairs in my otherwise perfect potion?”

Potter’s eyes flashed, recognising his mistake. He crossed his arms defensively. “I think you mean _our_ potion. And what does it matter? Unicorns are basically horses anyway– ”

“UNICORNS ARE BASICALLY HORSES ANYWAY IS THE MOST OUTRAGEOUS AND FACTUALLY INCORRECT THING I HAVE EVER HEARD.”

Draco heard laughter behind him. Why couldn’t he have stayed in his safe invisible corner?

“Calm down, Malfoy. I’m sure the potion will still– ”

“IT WON’T STILL WORK BECAUSE THE MAGICAL PROPERTIES OF UNICORN HAIR ARE PARTICULARLY POIGNANT AND UNLIKELY TO ADD SUBSTANCE TO ANY POTION OTHER THAN A– ” Draco caught himself before he said anything further. People were starting to stare. 

“Other than a _what_ potion?”

“Never mind,” Draco said, staring at the floor and hoping his face wasn’t obviously flushed. “It doesn’t matter. You’ve ruined everything.”

“I’ve ruined everything? You wouldn’t let me do anything!”

“And the one thing I did let you do, you ruined, so I’m not sure what your argument is.”

“Isn’t the potion supposed to be blue?”

“It would have been if you hadn’t– ”

“It’s blue.”

Draco looked up. “What?”

“The potion’s blue. It’s fin– ”

“But what shade of blue?” Draco asked, pushing past Potter to see the potion. “I’m sure it’s not the right– ”

Except it was. It was the exact periwinkle blue it was supposed to be.

“See?” 

Draco swivelled back around to face Potter. “Just because it’s– ”

“Relax, Malfoy. It’s fine,” Potter said. He summoned a goblet without even pulling his wand from his pocket (to have that power!) and filled it with the potion. “I’ll prove it.”

Malfoy watched, wide-eyed, as Potter titled his head back and chugged the potion without a single hesitation. He dropped the goblet and they both stared at each other, waiting for something to happen. 

A beat passed.

“You really are the most reckless person I know. I can’t believe– ”

And then everything went black.

 

* * *

 

Unicorn hair was the star ingredient in any soulmate potion worth a damn. Draco knew this because he’d tried every soulmate potion he could get his hands on. The ones that worked all featured unicorn hair…and all came to the same conclusion: Harry Potter was his soulmate. 

It was rather poetic really. The one person Draco had ruined his chances with beyond all repair was his soulmate.

Being soulmates didn’t mean you’d end up together, of course. Happy endings couldn’t be guaranteed. All a potion could tell you was who you were ultimately compatible with, and who, given the right opportunity and right circumstances and a splash of luck, could make you happier than any other. 

No, there wasn’t some predestined fate awaiting Draco and Potter. There was only real life where Draco had already fucked it all up. 

And now he had to live with it.

 

* * *

 

Draco came to before his body did. His eyes were planted firmly shut and no amount of will seemed to open them. It wasn’t until he was already hobbling to his feet when they acquiesced and granted him vision. 

How he wished they hadn’t.

Crouching above Draco was…well, Draco. With impeccably styled hair as usual, of course. He knew immediately what had happened. He’d switched bodies with Potter. 

“For fuck’s sake, Potter, why’d you have to– ” Draco trailed off and so did the Draco in front of him. They were talking at the same time, which didn’t make any sense except–

“What the fuck is this?”

Draco could hear Potter’s voice as if he were across from him, but he couldn’t see him at all. Draco straightened up and watched the Draco in front of him do the same. It was all very disconcerting. 

“Isn’t it obvious, Potter?”

It was clear from Potter’s grumbles it was not, in fact, obvious. Or it was and Potter was just thick.

“Let me spell it out for you, Potter. I’m going to close my eyes now.”

Draco did as he said, but his vision did not change. He watched as the Draco in front of him closed his eyes at the very moment he intended to.

“I can’t– I can’t see.” Potter’s voice was panicked. “What’s happening?”

“I’m going to open my eyes now,” Draco said and did so. He heard Potter exhale. “Now do you get it?”

“Are we…seeing through each other’s eyes?” Potter asked, as if he still wasn’t sure, despite all the evidence.

“No, Potter. We’re seeing through each other’s belly buttons. What the fuck do you think?”

Draco saw himself as he spoke, his eyes narrowing and lips twisting cruelly. He felt queasy. 

“Fuck off, Malfoy. Why do you have to be such an arse all the time?”

“Why do you have to be so thick?”

“I’m not thick! I’m sorry I can’t be as calm as you when I’m sharing my vision with an elitist asswipe.”

“Very creative, Potter but we’re not _sharing_ our vision, technically we’ve switched– ”

“I KNOW!

Draco turned his head – no Potter must have – because Professor Milligan came into view. Draco turned his head in the same direction – it was less disconcerting when he could trick his brain into thinking the vision was his. 

“Mr Potter, Mr Malfoy,” Professor Milligan said in the wrong order as she addressed them both with a look, “what have you done?”

“I didn’t do anything,” Draco said quickly before Potter could blame him. “Potter ruined our potion and then, because he’s an absolute buffoon, drank it, and now I can only see through his stupid near-sighted eyes.”

“I’m wearing glasses for fuck’s sake.”

“Language, Mr Potter,” Professor Milligan said, staring at Draco. “And there’s no need for your tone, Mr Malfoy,” she said to Potter. She turned back to Draco. “How did you ruin the potion, Mr Potter?”

“All I did was add unicorn hair instead of– ”

Draco saw the recognition in Professor Milligan’s face. “And you didn’t touch the potion at all, Mr Malfoy?” she asked. “It was only Mr Potter who came into contact with the potion?”

Draco nodded. He could feel his face growing red at the admission of it. Potter glanced in his direction – out of habit it would seem – and Draco had the pleasure of seeing his own blushing face up close and personal. He closed his eyes, but of course, it didn’t help. 

“Stop doing that!” Potter said.

Draco opened his eyes. Potter turned back to Professor Milligan. She addressed the class behind them. “Everyone, please finish your potions, bring a labelled vial to my desk and dismiss yourselves. I must take Mr Malfoy and Mr Potter to the hospital wing immediately.”

Draco already knew that wasn’t going to help. 


	2. Chapter 2

**** The walk to the Hospital Wing was particularly unpleasant. Each step Draco took was out of sync with the movement of his vision. Potter took great clunking footsteps, his head bopping comically as he did, where Draco glided with careful deliberate ones (like any other civilised person). 

Professor Milligan helped guide them, a firm hand on each of their shoulders, so Draco didn’t even have the pleasure of making Potter walk into things. It was the only positive outcome he could picture from the whole affair. Although, he supposed there would be ample time for that later.

Madam Pomfrey greeted them at the entrance of the wing. “Well, what’s wrong with them?” She asked. 

Professor Milligan explained the situation matter-of-factly as if it wasn't going to completely ruin Draco's life. Madam Pomfrey, listened, unconcerned, as if their problem was easily curable. She didn't know yet.

She brought them into the wing and made Draco and Potter sit down next to each other. Their shoulders were touching. 

“And they still have control of their own bodies and other senses?” she asked.

“Yes,” Draco answered before Professor Milligan could. He didn’t like being talked about when he was in the room. He’d lost his sight, not his sense. 

Madam Pomfrey peered down at Draco initially, then moved to Potter. “A Potions accident I presume?”

“Yes,” Draco said again. 

“What were you supposed to be brewing?”

“Sense Enhancement Draught.”

“And do you know what went wrong?”

Draco hesitated and Professor Milligan answered. “Unicorn hairs instead of horse hairs in the final step.”

Madam Pomfrey’s eyebrows jumped up. Her eyes flickered between Draco and Potter with obvious surprise. Draco couldn’t blame her. 

“Did you both come into contact with the potion?” 

“No,” Potter said, speaking for the first time since they’d entered the wing. “Just I drank it.”

Madam Pomfrey sighed and closed her eyes for a moment. “With the number of times you’ve been in my Hospital Wing, Mr Potter, do you really think it’s wise to be drinking your Potions experiments?”

“I tried to tell him.”

“No you didn’t,” Potter said, turning to Draco. Draco saw his own face closer than expected. 

“I distinctly recall telling you what a reckless– ”

“ _After_ I’d drunk the potion,” Potter interrupted. “Real helpful, thanks.”

“How was I supposed to know you were so unbelievably thick that you’d– ”

“Fuck y– ”

“Mr Potter! Mr Malfoy! This is a Hospital Wing,” Madam Pomfrey yelled. 

“Sorry,” Potter said immediately, looking down. 

Draco now got to look at a lap. Great. He tilted his head up to the ceiling. Potter closed his eyes, blocking Draco’s vision. Draco did the same. 

“Enough,” Madam Pomfrey yelled again. “Don’t think I can’t see what you’re doing. Look at me, both of you.”

Potter obeyed first. Draco followed.

“For reasons beyond my understanding, you two are soul– ”

“-ly responsible for this accident,” Draco interrupted in a flash, knowing exactly what Madam Pomfrey was going to reveal. He pushed himself up to his feet and stumbled slightly, still not used to his vision not following his actions. "And since there is no cure, we won’t waste your time any longer.”

“Shut up, Malfoy. Of course there’s a cure.”

Madam Pomfrey gave Draco a strange look that Potter could hardly miss, then turned to Professor Milligan. “Lucinda, could you take Mr Potter outside for a moment? I need to discuss something with Mr Malfoy.”

Draco knew his face was flushing. He could only take solace in the fact that Potter could not see it. He watched – it wasn’t like he had any choice – as Potter followed Professor Milligan’s back outside the Hospital Wing. When the door closed, Draco had a weird thought that perhaps his vision would flicker and die, out of range like a muggle TV, but it didn’t. 

“Why do you not want Mr Potter to know you are– “ Draco dropped his head in case Potter could read lips– “soulmates?”

“I thought that was obvious.”

“How long have you known?”

“Months. Almost a year.”

“If Mr Potter knew– ”

“He’d only resent me more. What’s the point of telling him anyway? It won’t change anything.”

He heard Madam Pomfrey sigh and was glad he could not see her face. He couldn’t stand pity. 

“I’m sure you’ve already guessed the only cure?”

“Yes,” Draco said wishing he hadn’t. “I know how soulmate magic works.”

“Then I have to tell him.”

Draco toyed with the buttons of his shirt – a nervous habit. “I don’t want to force his hand.”

Madam Pomfrey was silent. Draco watched through Potter’s vision as Professor Milligan’s lips moved. He wished he could hear what she was saying. 

“Fine,” Madam Pomfrey finally said. “I won’t tell him.” Draco relaxed, his body slumping at the release of tension. “For now,” Madam Pomfrey clarified. “But I can’t let this go on for much longer. You have two weeks.”

“Two weeks?” Draco repeated, straightening up again immediately. “What do you expect me- ”

“Would you rather I tell him now?”

There was no time to argue further. Potter was growing impatient and pushing on the door to the hospital wing. Besides, any delay was preferable. Maybe in that time Draco could invent his own cure. Soulmate magic be damned. 

“Two weeks is fine.”

Potter stormed back in. It would have been intimidating if he hadn’t tripped over a bed leg. Draco had a front row seat to the whole affair – although his amusement was dampened by the phantom sensation of falling with Potter, his vision tricking him. He felt his own body flinch at the impact. 

Potter got to his feet, ignoring assistance from Professor Milligan and Madam Pomfrey. It took a second for Draco to realise he couldn't see their outstretched hands. “What were you talking about?”

“We were just discussing sleeping arrangements,” Madam Pomfrey said smoothly. Draco felt a rush of affection for her. “Mr Malfoy has his own dorm so it makes sense for you to move– ”

“What about the cure?” 

“I’m working on it,” Madam Pomfrey covered. “In the meantime– ” 

“We have to _sleep_ together?” Potter asked. Draco could hear the horror in his voice and was glad he couldn’t see the facial expression to match. 

“Just in the same room, Potter,” Draco said. “Try not to act so disgusted.”

“I’m not disgusted,” Potter said quickly, and it sounded almost genuine. “I just don’t see why– ”

“You’ll need to help each other get around. Move between classes, bring the right books to each class. Day to day tasks. I’m sure you both rely on your vision quite a lot. So you’ll have to rely on each other now.

“Great.”

“I’m overjoyed too, Potter.”

 

* * *

 

Madam Pomfrey and Professor Milligan arranged for the house-elves to bring Potter’s things to Draco’s dorm. All Draco and Potter had to do was walk there. Which was harder than it sounded.

“Stop walking so fast, I don’t know where I am.”

“Stop bouncing so much, you’re giving me a headache,” Draco countered. 

“I’m not bouncing.”

“Could’ve fooled me, Potter. It’s like I’m on a rollercoaster seeing through your eyes.”

Potter stopped, Draco’s vision came to a halt. “You know what rollercoasters are?”

Draco began to roll his eyes, then stopped. It’s not like Potter could see him anyway. “I’m a pureblood, not a recluse.”

Potter made a snorting noise. “Still think you’re superior to everyone else I see.”

“I’m not bragging, Potter. I _am_ a pureblood. I’m not proud of it. It’s just a fact.”

“I know you. You’re a narcissistic, pretentious, prejudiced, snobbish– ”

“Well, you’re a reckless heathen," Draco interrupted. The malice in Potter's voice was getting too much to bear. "Can we keep walking now? I’d rather not be in the halls with you when class finishes.”

Potter kept walking. He was a good ten steps behind Draco. Draco could see his own back.

“Only you would be embarrassed to be seen with me,” Potter muttered, but his voice carried. 

“Now who’s the narcissistic one?”

“Fuck you, Malfoy.”

Draco was about to reply in kind when he realised his opportunity. Thanks to Potter’s position behind him, he could see where he was, but Potter had no sense of his own location. Draco smiled. 

“Watch out, Potter,” he called out with feigned urgency, “you’re going to run into a wall. Turn to your left.”

Potter followed the orders immediately, pivoting to his left and heading straight for the wall beside him. Draco turned his body at the last second, hoping Potter would be able to see himself in Draco’s vision at the precise second that it was too late. 

Potter’s head hit the wall hard, his head jerking back with more force than Draco expected. Draco worried for a second that Potter might be seriously hurt but then he groaned and let out some colourful expletives featuring Draco’s name. 

“Sorry my bad,” Draco said, now he knew Potter was fine. “Did I say to turn? I meant keep walking straight.”

“Not funny, Malfoy.”

“It is, actually.” 

Draco realised Potter was picking up speed on him too late. He saw the surprise register on his own face before Potter took a firm grip off his arm. He’d already flinched. He'd thought he was going to be punched. 

“What are you doing?”

“We’re never going to get anywhere unless we walk together,” Potter said, tightening his hold on Draco’s arm and guiding them both forward.

Draco could feel Potter’s breath at his neck. He could see his face too close in Potter’s peripheral vision. He tried to jerk away but Potter held strong. 

“This isn’t necessary.”

“It wouldn’t be if you were willing to cooperate but since you’re an asshole– ”

Draco closed his eyes.

“My point exactly.”

Draco opened them. 

“Thank you.”

 

* * *

 

They reached Draco’s dorm before class ended and Potter dropped their arms. Draco breathed again.

“Why did you have your own dorm anyway?” Potter asked.

Draco watched himself in third person through Potter’s eyes until he found his way to his bed and lay down. He wasn’t tired, just disoriented. Motion sick, perhaps. 

“Dormmate complained,” he answered Potter, once he was settled.

“Don’t blame him. I bet you’re a nightmare to live with.

“Before the term started.”

“Oh,” Potter said. Draco could hear the pity coming. “I’m sure– ”

“I need to piss.”

“Oh,” Potter said again, quite differently. “I was thinking about this on the way up, actually. If– ”

“You were thinking about me pissing?”

“Not like– well, yes but only– at least I’m trying to– fucking hell. Do you want to piss or not?”

Draco was disappointed he couldn’t see Potter’s face. It was so very appealing when he was flushed. 

“I want to piss,” Draco confirmed.

They entered the bathroom together. There was a large mirror above the basin and Draco was pleased to see he was right about Potter’s face. It was bright red. Although, his own wasn’t much better.

Potter didn’t make any comment about the mirror and neither did Draco, but he realised its potential immediately. He stored the thought for later. 

They moved past the mirror to the toilet, both walking slowly. Draco was eager to piss, but he had no desire to do so in front of an audience. When they had no more steps to take, they both stood in front of the toilet awkwardly. 

“You should probably look up,” Potter said. “Or close your eyes.”

Draco did both. 

“I’m going to watch– ” Potter cut himself off and Draco’s vision moved to the sight of the toilet bowl. Charming. 

Safe in the knowledge that Potter could only see the inside of his eyelids, Draco moved his hands to his crotch and unzipped. 

“Could you look a bit higher and to your left?” Draco asked, with all the mortification the question demanded. “I need to see my– ” cock.

Potter obeyed without comment. It was like he wasn’t even there. Except he very much was. Draco was entirely aware he had his cock out in Potter’s close proximity. If he wanted to, Potter could reach out and touch–

Draco hardened unwilling at the thought. He cursed himself for his train of thought. He could hardly pee now, half hard as he was. He thought of things to turn him off quickly. His mother. Gross. His father. Worse. Granger beating him in class. Horrifying. The Dark Mark. 

That worked. 

He lined himself up over the bowl, under Potter’s eyes and–

“What’s taking you so long?”

Draco could have screamed. “I don’t know how you do it in your dorms, Potter, but I don’t usually have an audience.”

“I can’t see anything.”

“Yes, but you’re right there. It’s off-putting.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Shut up, for one. Let me piss in peace.”

“Fine. But you have to shut up too, then.”

“Fine.”

It was another minute before Draco could finally start. He ignored Potter’s sigh of relief.  When Draco finished, they switched and Potter went as well. Draco could just hear the unspoken brag in the air when Potter started pissing almost immediately. 

_Yes, Potter,_ he thought, _you win the competition of pissing. Congratu-fucking-lations._

“Should we go down to dinner?” Potter asked when they finally left the bathroom, a room Draco never wanted to be in with Potter again. 

Draco half-felt, half-saw himself through Potter’s vision back to his bed. “No,” he said, laying down. 

“I want to eat,” Potter said.

“Then call a house-elf.”

“I want to see my friends.”

“Then pass me a picture and I’ll stare at it for a while.”

Potter threw something at him. Draco saw through Potter's eyes as it hit him in the shoulder. It was a shoe.

“Fuck you,” Draco muttered into his pillow.

“Hermione might have a cure.”

“Might,” Draco stressed. “Go, if you want. I’m staying here.” He didn’t want to deal with Potter and his friends right now. He wanted to lay in his bed until it swallowed him up and took him far away. Was that really so much to ask?

Potter didn’t move. “She’ll at least know what went wrong with the potion. She can research unicorn hairs– ”

“No.” Draco sat up. 

“What?”

Granger had read the entire Hogwarts library, there was no way she didn’t already know about unicorn hairs. If Potter said anything to her, she’d work it out and tell him. 

“Let’s go,” Draco said standing up, and thrusting the shoe projectile back into Potter's hands. 

He had to speak to Granger first. 


	3. Chapter 3

Granger burst out laughing.

Draco expected that much. The idea that he and Harry Potter were soulmates would have been funny to Draco too if it weren’t his excruciatingly painful reality. But the laughter went on and on and on, and Potter was staring and leaning in their direction, trying to eavesdrop.

Through Potter’s eyes, Draco could see himself standing, awkwardly, hesitantly, arms half crossed, while Hermione held herself against the wall of the Great Hall, laughing. He hoped no one else was watching.

“Granger. Could you please get a hold of yourself? I’m aware how ridiculous it is for Potter and me to be soulmates, and more so, for me to think of him in that way but– ”

“Wait.” Granger stooped laughing. “You have feelings for Harry?”

Draco felt (and saw thanks to Potter’s insistent eavesdropping attempt) a blush creeping up his neck. There was no use denying it. “Naturally,” he said as nonchalant as he could with the redness heating his face. “He is my soulmate after all and basically a saint. It’s me who has ultimately ruined my own chances by– ”

“Following a prejudiced murderer?” Granger suggested. “Tormenting Harry every year? Treating me like– ” Granger paused. Draco could hear her searching for words in the silence. 

“Sorry,” he said quickly before she could find them. “I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that. I– ” Draco straightened himself, feeling nauseous at his upcoming admission– “I was wrong.”

There was silence. Draco couldn’t see Granger’s face – Potter had turned his head back and looked to be talking to Weasley. Perhaps that had made his admission easier. He did not have to answer to accusing eyes. 

“You _were_ wrong,” Granger said finally, her voice harsher than it had been. “You should apologise to Harry too.”

Draco felt himself slump at the suggestion. “I know.” 

Of course he wanted to; he’d been meaning to. But every time he opened his mouth around Potter, all that came out were jabs and insults and snide remarks. It was the only way he knew how to act.

Granger sighed like Draco was missing something very crucial. “You’re not soulmates.”

“What?”

“Soulmates don’t exist.”

Granger’s words shifted the air between them. Draco paused for a second, unsure how to respond. 

“Of course they do. I’ve made dozens of potions– ” 

“Dozens?” Granger questioned, sounding like she might laugh again. “I’m surprised you, of all people, believe in that nonsense. It’s all pseudo-magic, you know? The potions tell you what you want to hear. Your feelings for Harry would have influenced their magical properties. There’s no– ” 

“How do you explain what happened to Potter and me, then?” Draco argued. “Why is my vision affected too when only Potter drank it?”

“You made the potion, didn’t you? So, it would have your magical trace in– ” 

“Milligan and Pomfrey both believe. Soulmates are real.” They had to be. 

Granger made a noise that was half huff, half laugh. “Whatever, Malfoy. You don’t have to worry. I won’t tell Harry about this because there’s nothing to tell.”

“Soulmates are real,” Draco said again.

“No they’re not,” Granger said and the conversation was over. She guided Draco back to the Gryffindor table where he supposed he’d have the pleasure of eating his dinner at for the rest of the year.

Draco should have been happy. His secret was safe. But Granger’s words bugged him. If soulmates weren’t real, he had spent the past year with a lie influencing his brain, influencing his thoughts of Potter.

The rest of dinner went by in a bit of daze. Draco sat beside Potter, heads turned to each other’s plates.

Draco was vaguely aware of Potter arguing with Granger, demanding to know what she and Draco had discussed. Granger held true to her word and didn’t say anything, but when Potter looked over at her, Draco saw the knowing smile on her face. It made his insides curl.

If Potter was not his soulmate, as Granger believed, then Draco’s feelings were even more pathetic, pitiful even. And he felt horribly exposed under her gaze.

 

* * *

 

The only escape Draco would foresee was sleep. All he wanted to do after dinner was fall into his bed and drift into peaceful emptiness. Of course, Potter had other plans.

He insisted on bringing Granger and Weasley back to Draco’s, _now their,_ dormitory to discuss the cure. With Granger’s insistent disbelief of soulmates, Draco doubted they’d get close to the solution.

“By all means,” he said drily as Weasley sat on his bed, his glorious, soft bed, “make yourself at home. Just don’t forget to clean the sheets before you leave.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means, Weasel, that I have no wish to sleep in a bed stained with your grubby hands. I had the pleasure of watching you eat dinner without picking up your cutlery once.”

“What were you watching me for?”

Draco rolled his eyes - the sensation felt weird without the visual to match. “I don’t have control of what I can see, remember?” He turned to Potter who he knew to be standing by his own bed. “Are all your friends as thick as you, Potter?”

“Obviously not,” Granger cut in, drowning out Weasley’s, _Oi!_ “Can we discuss the cure now?”

“If Malfoy’s quite finished being a prick, sure,” Potter said.

“This is my dormitory,” Draco reminded him. 

“Last I saw, there were two beds.”

“And neither one of them is Weasley’s.”

Potter laughed, then huffed, then sighed. “Just sit on my bed, Ron.”

As soon as he saw Weasley rise through Potter’s eyes, Draco flung himself down onto his bed. It greeted him warmly, bending around him. Now all he needed to do was close his eyes and he’d be free. But, of course, it wasn’t that simple. 

“Ignore him,” Potter was saying to Weasley with his eyes very much still open. 

“But he should be helping too. This is just as much his problem as it is yours.”

“He’s an asshole, Ron,” Potter whispered. In the quiet room, Draco heard it clearly. “Just leave it.”

“Maybe he likes it,” Weasley whispered back. “Maybe he did this on purpose so he’d finally have people hanging around him. It’s not like he has any friends now that– ”

“Sure,” Draco interrupted, ignoring the tightness in his chest. “This was all an elaborate scheme to invite you into my dormitory so you could talk about me like I’m not here. If this is what it’s like to have friends, maybe I have the right idea about it.”

Weasley, at least, looked ashamed at being caught out. “I didn’t think you could– ”

“Well, I can. So keep your opinions about me to myself and focus on your pointless crusade.”

“It’s not pointless,” Granger said. “We just need more research. We’ll go to the– ”

“–library–” Potter and Weasley chanted.

“–at lunch,” Granger finished. 

“And until then?” Potter asked, sounding offensively panicked. 

“You’ll just have to live with Malfoy. It can’t be as traumatic as you both make it out to be.”

“It’s _Malfoy,_ ” Potter said, also offensively. 

“And you’re Harry fucking Potter,” Draco hit back, although his tone was less scathing than he would’ve liked. 

“You can handle this, Harry,” Granger said. “You’ve handled worse, and you’re still here. Just play nice.”

Weasley snorted. “That is the worst advice you've ever given, Hermione. Harry can’t play nice with _Malfoy_.”

“Sure, he can. He’s a good person.” Granger’s lips quirked up into another knowing smile. Draco wished he could look away but Potter's eyes didn't budge. “Some might even call a saint.”

Draco rolled over in bed so nobody would see his red face. 

“No one calls me that,” Potter said. He sounded confused. 

“I can think of one.”

Draco would have hexed Granger if he wasn’t so busy trying to disappear into his bed. 

 

* * *

 

“We’ll find a cure,” Potter said into the darkness. Weasley and Granger had left. Draco wouldn't have been sure who Potter was speaking to, except he was the only other person in the room. 

“I know.” A cure that they could never use.

“I’m not a saint.”

"I never said you were,” Draco said quickly.

“No, obviously you wouldn’t– whatever, Malfoy. Can you try not to be a prick to my friends? At least while we’re stuck like this.”

“I didn’t realise I took orders from you.”

“I’m not– ”

“Just close your eyes, Potter. I’d very much like for this day to end.”

Potter did, and Draco, finally, felt himself again. It didn’t last long.

 

* * *

 

Draco woke up to screaming. Potter’s screaming. He couldn’t place it at first – lost in his dreams, coming to slowly. Then there were words, loud, repeated, louder. _Open your eyes._

_My eyes are open,_ he thought sleepily. He could see the canopy of the bed above him, albeit a little blurry. Then he remembered. 

Draco opened his eyes and the screaming stopped. All Draco could hear was Potter’s deep panicked breaths. 

“Are you– are you alright?”

There was no answer.

“Potter?”

“Yep,” Potter said in a squeaky voice. “Just give me a sec.”

Draco waited, keeping his eyes wide open.

“Imagine,” Potter said after a few minutes, his voice mostly returned to normal, “waking up from a nightmare and not being able to open your eyes.”

“Sorry,” Draco said automatically, surprised by how easily the word came out.

“I’m not blaming– wait. You’re sorry?”

“I’m not evil incarnated, Potter. I do have a basic grasp of human decency and social convention.”

“What?”

“I even say please and thank you sometimes too. That is, if I’m not feeling particularly murderous or villainous, of course.”

Potter was quiet for a moment. And then he said something completely unexpected. “Sarcasm suits you, you know.”

It was the most like a compliment Draco’d ever received from Potter and it made his stomach do a triple somersault. “Thank you.”

Potter laughed and Draco’s stomach did more somersaults. It was all rather pathetic, and Draco hoped he would remember nothing of it in the morning. 

They both lay quietly for a time, Draco’s eyes still wide open. 

“Do you need me to– ”

“No,” Potter said firmly. “I’m good now. You can sleep.”

“Are you– ”

“Yes. I’m fine.”

“What if– ”

“I _said_ I’m _fine.”_

Draco didn’t push it any further– he closed his eyes. But he couldn’t quite fall into the same deep sleep he’d been absorbed in earlier. If Potter needed, he’d be ready to open his eyes in a flash. 

Potter didn’t scream again and Draco wondered if he wasn’t sleeping either. 


	4. Chapter 4

The morning came slowly. Draco eventually dozed off but only into a half sleep that did little to relax him. When he came to, it was to Potter’s wide-eyed blurry vision of the canopy above him.

“How do you suppose we shower?” Potter asked when Draco remembered to open his own eyes. 

It took a moment for Draco’s brain to catch up to the question – he stalled deliberately on the thought of Potter showering and the consequent image it conjured in his head. Thank Merlin Potter couldn’t also see into his mind’s eye. 

“We don’t," he decided. 

“Didn’t take you for the dirty type.”

Draco carefully ignored Potter’s word choice. “We’re wizards, remember?”

Silence.

“Cleaning charms, Potter,” Draco clarified. How muggleborns and half-bloods like Potter forgot about basic magic, he had no idea. “Cleaning charms.”

“Oh, yeah, right,” Potter said, not sounding particularly thrilled at the suggestion. 

Draco sighed. He’d much rather avoid the situation altogether, especially when there was such a convenient magical solution but Potter sounded so disappointed and Draco was weak. Weak for Harry fucking Potter. 

“If you really want to have a shower, just do it and close your eyes. We’ve swapped visions, not bodies. I’m sure you can feel your way around.”

“Oh, I– um–”

“Do you want to shower or not?” Draco snapped. He was beginning to feel a bit irritable - it was morning, he’d hardly slept and everything he suggested seemed to displease Potter. 

“Yes, I– “ Potter took an audible breath. “It’s just I’m afraid of the dark,” he said all in a rush.

Draco rolled over in his bed to face Potter, not that he could see anything other than bed canopy. “I don’t think you’re getting how this thing works. You won’t be in the dark. I will be.”

“Technically, I guess. But I don’t like not knowing what’s around me, or who’s around me. Right now, I can’t even trust my own eyes. I feel– _don’t laugh_ –vulnerable.”

Draco didn’t laugh. He felt vulnerable too, although not quite for the same reason. “Look, what if I stand guard at the door? You can shower while keeping lookout. Not even I could sneak up on you without you knowing.”

“Ok,” Potter said quietly after a pause. He hadn’t moved. 

Draco pulled himself up, feeling around for his bedpost. “Get on with it, then.”

Potter stood up and Draco had to remind himself not to trust what he was seeing. He continued to feel around with his hands until he found the bathroom door and pulled it open. There, he stood waiting, feeling a little bit too much like a doorman for his liking.

“Th– ” Potter started to say as he walked in.

“Just hurry up,” Draco interrupted, slamming the door shut. He turned around and leant up against it, eyes scanning the room for Potter’s benefit. 

Potter, the careless fool, stood in front of the mirror above the sink and yanked off his shirt in one effortless move. Draco tried clenching his eyes shut, but, of course, that did nothing, and now Potter’s slightly blurred hand was hovering above his pyjama bottoms and–

“Potter!” Draco shouted. “Don’t forget there’s a mirror in there. You might have terrible eyesight but you still need to keep your bloody eyes closed.”

Potter closed his eyes immediately. “Didn’t take you for such a gentleman.”

“I just don’t want to have to see your scrawny ass,” Draco answered quickly. He’d rather have said something much cleverer but his brain had short-circuited. Scrawny ass? Potter? Pathetic. 

“Obviously you don’t–it was just a joke,” Potter called back through the door. 

“Well it wasn’t a very good one,” Draco snapped. He crossed his arms. Why couldn’t Potter just be content with cleaning charms like any normal wizard?

The sound of water hit Draco’s ears and he was both relieved he no longer had to maintain a conversation with a stripping Potter and aroused at the realisation Potter was now completely naked behind the door. 

Draco shook the image away but it kept coming back. He didn’t have much else to do, standing guard at a bathroom door and seeing only darkness, so he let it. 

By the time Potter had finishing showering, breakfast had already started. Draco quickly cast some cleaning charms - declining Potter’s suggestion he shower too – and changed into fresh robes with his eyes closed. Even if he had any desire to waste his time showering, there was no way he was leaving Potter out in the dark.

Draco made Potter give him a quick once over so he could check himself out – Potter’s eyes working almost as a mirror – and fixed his hair. He was thankful Potter hadn’t actually seen him this morning. His hair looked ridiculous when it was unkempt, unlike Potter, whose messy sex-hair look always suited him.

Urgh. Draco was so fucking weak.

 

* * *

 

“Who’s that? What are you doing?”

The figure in front of Draco let go of his shoulder. 

“Relax Malfoy. It’s just me."

“Weasley?” Draco asked, trying to step around. The hand came back up, holding him in place. “Relax isn’t the word for it. Look, I don’t want to hurt you but if you keep standing between me and my breakfast burrito, I– "

“Get over yourself, Malfoy. I just want to talk for a sec.”

Draco watched as Potter piled his plate high with food. His stomach grumbled. “I didn’t realise you and I talked.”

“Watch it or I’ll stop.”

“And that would be bad how?” Draco asked. 

Weasley ignored the jab. “Harry told me you helped him with his nightmares.”

Draco snorted. “Hardly. I woke up, really. Difficult to avoid with someone screaming.” Trust Potter to run off and tell– “Wait when did Potter tell you that? I’ve been with him all night.”

Weasley ignored Draco again. “They can get pretty bad. The nightmares.”

“He has them a lot?” Draco found himself asking before he could stop himself. 

“Yeah, at least every other night.”

Draco felt that awful, gnawing discomfort in his chest he’d recently discovered to be guilt. He wasn’t so self-absorbed to think Potter was having nightmares about him, but he couldn’t deny his part in the war. 

“Great. Why are you telling me this?”

“Well, if you want to keep helping– ”

“ –I’m not help– ”

“ –you could try singing to him."

“Singing?” Draco repeated. “Are you telling me you sing Potter _lullabies_?”

“It doesn’t have to be a lullaby. Anything really. He said once the best memories he has of his parents are their voices. I think they must have sung to him quite a bit as a baby and now it relaxes him.”

“ _Massages_ relax me but I’m not about to go ask Potter to– ”

“What about you wait until you have PTSD from saving the world, Malfoy? Then you can ask for your massages.”

Draco’s chest was tight. Usually he’d bite back when someone spoke to him like that, but the sting of Weasley’s words sunk unpleasantly in. 

“Okay,” Draco conceded. “What do you usually sing?”

“The Chudley Cannons anthem most– ”

“This has got to be a joke. Are you trying to make me humiliate myself?”

“No, Malfoy,” Weasley said cooly, “I’m not you.”

Draco felt the sting again. 

“Fine. But I’m not singing that.”

“Like I said,” Weasley said, “anything works. I’m not very good but that doesn’t matter either. It’s just the singing, it relaxes him somehow.”

“I doubt my voice is something Potter associates with relaxation but I’ll try,” Draco said. “If he really needs it. And I’m feeling generous.”

Weasley laughed, not unkindly. “You’re alright, Malfoy,” he said. “Who would’ve thought?”

“Not me,” Draco muttered to himself, moving to sidestep Weasley again. Potter’s plate was clean and he was standing up but surely there was still time to–

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Draco swore a little too loudly as he saw the food disappear from the tables through Potter’s eyes, signifying the end of breakfast. 

He counted to ten slowly so he wouldn’t punch Weasley for keeping him from eating. 

Potter made his way over with Granger, bopping without a fucking care. Merlin, Draco was irritated. He didn’t function well without sleep or food and going without both, he could just about kill someone. But not actually. That was his whole pathetic shtick, wasn't it?

Large hands stuffed something warm into his chest. 

“What’s this?” He asked, grabbing on to it blindly. 

“A breakfast burrito,” Granger’s voice replied. “It’s under a warming charm but you better eat it before class or I’m sure Professor Osiris will confiscate it.”

“That’s– I– you– ” Draco struggled to find words. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had treated him to such a basic kindness. He knew when he returned to Hogwarts, he’d be coming alone. Zabini and Pansy had decided to travel (read: escape). Goyle had never taken to schooling, so was hardly about to attend a non-compulsory additional year. And Crabbe...well, let’s just say Draco had forgotten what it was like to have friends. 

“Normal people express their gratitude by saying thank you,” Potter’s voice whispered unkindly in his ear. 

“Oh is that what those words are for,” Draco replied drily. “I simply had no idea.”

Potter huffed and started bopping again, leading the way out of the Great Hall. “I told you you shouldn’t have gotten him anything, Hermione.”

"You’re the one who said– ”

“We should get to class,” Potter said quickly, cutting Granger off. 

Draco hurried along behind them, unsure if he was keeping up or potentially on his way to colliding with a wall. If Potter would just turn around and give him some vision to work with then he’d be able to–

Someone looped their arm around Draco’s. 

“I can’t believe they’re still making you go to class.” 

_Weasley._ Draco could only imagine the looks they were getting. 

“It’s either that or be stuck alone with T _he Chosen Prat_ all day so there’s not much of a choice, is there?” Draco said loudly. He wasn’t exactly sure where Potter was. 

“He heard you,” Weasley confirmed.

Draco shrugged. What did he care?

Weasley laughed.

 

* * *

 

At lunch, Granger met Draco at the entrance to the Great Hall with another burrito but this time it wasn’t so much a kindness as it was a bribe. She also had food ready for Potter and Weasley.

“Do we have to?” Weasley asked through a mouthful of chicken drumstick, but he was already following Granger away from the Great Hall.

Draco walked behind, keeping as close to Potter’s side without touching so he could see his way through the corridor. It became clear where they were going quite quickly.

The library was almost empty. It wasn’t until the end of the year when students realised how close exams were, that the library began to fill up at lunch. The Golden Trio and Draco pored over books Granger pulled from the shelves. She’d stacked a short mountain on the table between them all that they could barely hope to cover over a full day, let alone one single lunch period. 

“What are we looking for?” Potter asked, flicking a page in _Not all Potions are Perfect_. Draco leant over Potter’s shoulder, as close as he dared, reading the text-heavy book through Potter’s eyes while Potter looked through his. 

Granger made a clipped noise of annoyance. “Any examples of similar accidents of course. If this has happened before, then we can find out how it was cured."

“Maybe there isn’t a cure,” Ron suggested casually, flicking through _Irreversible: Deadly Potion Making Errors._

Potter’s head jerked up. (The jerking was almost as bad as the bopping.)

Don’t say that,” Granger snapped, yanking the book from Weasley’s hands and replacing it with _Easy Fixes to Difficult Potions_. “Of course there is.”

“What if he’s right, Hermione? What if I’m– _we’re_ –stuck like this forever?”

Draco held his breath. Potter had voiced the exact thought he had been too cowardly to vocalise. 

“You won’t be,” Granger said confidently. “You _can’t_ be. There’s a cure, I _know_ there is. Look, see here.” Granger pushed her book into the centre of the table. Draco lifted his head so Potter could see. “These two witches switched bodies after a duelling accident and they– ”

“A spell backfire is hardly the same as an experimental potion,” Draco interjected, emotionally wanting to believe Granger but rationally unable to. “The magic properties are entirely different so naturally the cure would be entirely different. Not to mention, in case you haven’t noticed, we haven’t switched bodies. Our condition is very clearly limited to sight. Or is it you who has suddenly lost her vision?”

Granger gave Draco a deathly stare that Potter would have gotten the full frontal of. “I’m going to get more books," she said, standing up. 

“Yes, because the one thing we need is _more_ books,” Weasley muttered as she walked away, staring up at the tower of books they hadn’t even touched yet.

“You could at least _try_ being helpful,” Potter commented in the disgusted tone he reserved for speaking to Draco.

Draco screwed up his eyes, searching for peace in emptiness and, instead, being punished with the unbearable brightness that was seeing through Harry Potter’s eyes. 

“I’m here reading, aren’t I?”

“Where else would you be? Sitting by yourself in the Great Hall? Crying in Moaning Mrytle’s Bathroom? I really don’t think you have a better offer than this."

“ _Mate_.”

Draco let the hate behind Potter’s words sink in. Of course he knew how Potter felt about him but it was still painful to hear. Still agony to accept. 

He took a small breath and stood up. The entrance to the library was directly behind him so he made it out easily. From there, he had no sense of direction so he felt along the wall until he reached the first alcove. Closing his eyes, he slipped inside and sunk down to the floor. He didn't cry. He hung his head back against the wall and tried not to feel.  


	5. Chapter 5

“Malfoy? You there?”

It was Weasley. Great.

Draco kept still, hoping he wouldn’t be seen. 

“I know you’re here. Harry said you hadn’t got very far.”

“Does he always send you to clean up his messes?” Draco snapped back, giving away his position. He heard Weasley step into the alcove.

“You shouldn’t take what he says too personally.”

“Oh, and how should I take it, then? He hates me. I’d say that’s a bit personal, wouldn’t you?”

“He doesn’t hate you. He just– ” Weasley cleared his throat. “He has a temper.”

“Yes, I’d noticed that.”

“Would you stop being a sarcastic little shit for one minute, Malfoy? I’m trying to talk to you.”

“And I don’t feel like talking so– ”

“For Merlin’s sake, at least open your bloody eyes. Harry doesn’t like being in the dark.”

Draco snapped them open, seeing through Potter’s eyes as he sagged in relief. Draco felt that sick selfish feeling in his stomach. “I forgot,” he said quietly.

“Well, don’t,” Weasley said, though it wasn’t too unkind. His voice sounded closer now like he had knelt down. “You need to be gentle with him, he’s– ”

“ _Sorry,_ ” Draco interrupted (not sorry), “ _I_ need to be gentle with _him_?”

“Yes.”

Draco snorted. That was like telling him to be gentle with a werewolf– no, a _pack_ of werewolves– no, a pack of werewolves _who_ _starved themselves all month in preparation for the full moon_ – no, a pack of–

“Look,” Weasley continued, “I”m sorry about what he said. It was out of line. But don’t pretend you weren’t being an arse to Hermione. You shouldn’t be surprised that you get under his skin. It’s like you do it on purpose to get a rise out of him.”

Draco crossed his arms. “ _I do not._ ”

“I’m just telling you what it looks like.”

A thundering of footsteps and chatter from the Great Hall below them signified the end of lunch. 

“Come on,” Weasley said, pulling at Draco’s crossed arms. “I’ll take you to class.”

“I don’t want to talk to him,” Draco mumbled, feeling childish when he heard his own petulant words aloud. 

“Then don’t.”

 

* * *

 

Class was bearable. It was actually easy to ignore Potter when he couldn’t see him. Weasley sat snug between them in the long rows of tables in Defence Against the Dark Arts, Granger on Potter’s other side. 

Of course, near the end of class when Professor Sevinhopp was prattling on about relative wand strength, Draco couldn’t resist leaning over Weasley and addressing Granger in front of Potter. 

“I’m sorry for my behaviour earlier, Granger. It was never my intention to insult _you.”_ He tilted his head towards Potter (which of course Potter couldn’t miss) to make his insinuation clear. "I really do appreciate your help with my current infliction.”

“You are so full of shit, Malfoy.”

“I don’t believe I was talking to you, Potter.”

“But you’re still full of shit.”

“ _Harry,”_ Granger hissed and Draco smiled. “Oh no, don’t think you’re any better, Malfoy. Your apology is transparent. Now could you both be civil for five minutes? I’m _trying_ to learn here.”

Draco dropped back into his seat, the smile wiped from his face. His apology to Granger _was_ genuine. It was just efficient to also use it as an opportunity to irritate Potter.Two fishes, one rock or whatever it was the muggles said. Surely Granger, at least, could appreciate that. 

 

* * *

 

 

Granger could not appreciate that. 

“Charming to know you still quantify me by my blood and upbringing rather than my person, Malfoy. And you haven’t even got the saying right. It’s two birds, one– you know what? Nevermind.” She lowered her voice to a whisper – Potter and Weasley were barely a metre away. “I get it, you’re in love with Harry and you don’t know what to do with yourself. I get it, believe me, I get it.”

“You’re in love with Potter too? But I thought you and Weas– ”

“Shhh,” Granger hissed loudly. Potter looked over, not that he could see anything. It was Draco who saw himself leaning into Granger by his bedpost, a strange sight that made it look like they were friends. But appearances were deceiving. Draco knew that a little too well.

“Of course I’m not in love with Harry. _Jesus._ ”

Draco shook the image from his mind as Potter looked away. “You’re in love with Jesus? Who’s he? Is he not in our year?”

“No, Malfoy. Just shut up and listen. I get that this must be difficult for you, but it’s not an excuse for you to act like an arse.”

“Maybe I’m not acting. Maybe I _am_ an arse.” Draco made sure to say it flippantly so he could claim it as a joke but it was the one thing he was quite certain of. And the reason Potter would never want him, soulmate or not. 

He must have said it a touch too flippantly because Granger laughed. Potter’s head turned again.

“I don’t believe you,” she whispered to Draco, turning away before he could reply. “Ron, come on,” she called by the dormitory door. "Let them sleep. It’s late.”

 

* * *

 

 

Even though Potter was being a right prick – nothing new – Draco lay in bed with his eyes open, unwilling to give him over to the darkness. 

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I’m not doing anything,” Draco lied.

“Why?” Potter asked after a moment. Draco still hadn’t closed his eyes. “Why do you care?”

There were many answers to that question. Draco took the safe route. “Because I know what it’s like to be afraid, Potter, and, as I recall, it’s not particularly pleasant.”

“At least you had a reason to be afraid. I did too, I guess, but I didn’t feel it then. Now, everything’s fine and I’m jumping at shadows. I don’t know what’s wrong– “ Potter cut off suddenly and his voice changed. “Whatever. You don’t want to hear about me.”

Draco didn’t bother to correct him. For a second Potter had spoken to him openly like they were friends. Of course he wanted to hear that. 

“I’m sorry about what I said earlier,” Potter said after a moment, his voice changing yet again. 

The apology sat in the silence between them. Draco had expected Potter to apologise of course. Potter was the noble do-gooder sort. But that didn’t mean he believed it. 

“Are you?”

“What kind of question is that?” Potter hit back immediately. “I just said I was sorry.”

“So my apology to Granger is full of shit but I’m supposed to take your words as Merlin’s truth?”

“Your apology _was_ full of shit. You were baiting me.”

“Not everything is about you, Potter,” Draco said, despite mostly everything he did being just that. 

“It’s not about you, either.”

Draco rolled his eyes, knowing Potter would see it. “I never said it was.”

“You certainly act like it.”

“Fuck off.”

“ _You_ fuck off.”

Draco’s blood felt hot within his veins. He’d had plenty of decent verbal sparrings with Potter before but this felt different. Usually, he felt so worked up he wanted to punch something. But here, now, he was vertical, in bed, and his brain couldn’t help connect the dots with certain other activities he gravitated to when worked up.

He groaned in annoyance when he realised what his body wanted. 

Potter seemed to take that as the end of the argument because he rolled over and said stiffly, “You really can close your eyes."

Draco did and Potter followed, leaving him in darkness. A darkness in which terrible thoughts wormed their way into his mind. He couldn’t. Not in the same room as Potter. Could he? Even if Potter opened his eyes, he wouldn’t see anything. Draco had complete control. And that was all he needed to convince himself.

He meant to make it discreet, just a quick, no-nonsense hand beneath the sheets, But of course, once he started, he realised there were so many more possibilities. He quietly stripped himself of his clothes, hoping Potter wouldn’t read into the ruffle beneath the sheets.

Then, in a hormone-fuelled bravery, Draco threw back his sheets and exposed himself to the room. He paused there for a second, waiting for consequences. When none came, he continued touching himself. The perversion of the sort-of exposure with Potter barely a metre away stirred him on, with his control of the situation – of Potter’s vision – maintaining his confidence. Until–

“What are you doing?”

Draco reflexively pulled the sheets back up to his chin, confidence immediately faltering at the sound of Potter’s voice, so real and close. 

Draco didn’t realise how heavily he was breathing– no, _panting_ , _oh shit_ – until he tried to respond. His voice failed the first time and he took a deep breath in and tried again. “Sleeping,” he finally choked out, his voice tellingly high pitched. “Obviously.” Draco hoped this would be one of those times when Potter acted impossibly thick. Oh Merlin, please let it be one of those times–

"You’re clearly not sleeping.” Fuck. “You’re–” Potter continued in a hesitant whisper– “making _noises_.”

There were many times in Draco’s life where he’d thought that he’d quite like to die. Despite most of those previous times involving The Dark– Voldemort himself, Draco decided this one was by far the worst. 

“It’s called breathing, Potter. Maybe you should try it sometime.”

“I have– ” Potter coughed awkwardly. “I mean...I don’t mind if you _breathe_ , can you just…er…do it a bit quieter? It makes it a bit hard– _difficult_ ,” Potter quickly corrected himself. “It makes it _difficult_ to sleep.”

Draco didn’t quite know how to respond to that. He could scarcely believe Potter was really talking about breathing, but neither did it make sense for Potter to give him his blessing to jerk off. 

Although Draco supposed it wasn’t really a blessing since he could hardly continue quieter. He had been _trying_ to be quiet. That was the lowest volume he could manage. And now he was laying here, hard, so close but so far away from release. What was he supposed to do–

“I could cast a silencing charm for you?” Potter offered as if it wasn’t the most mortifying thing anyone could offer to do. 

Draco wanted to reject the offer, give himself plausible deniability for the morning. There were only two reasons students put up silencing charms in their shared dormitories and neither Potter nor Draco snored. But Draco was weak, and desperate, and turned on by the thought of feeling Potter’s wandless magic so he found himself saying a very terrible word:

“Okay.”

Potter’s charm worked perfectly of course. Draco felt the silence and its consequent stillness envelop him immediately. He didn’t waste time pushing the sheets back and returning a hand to his cock. The embarrassment of getting caught gave way to newfound arousal. The thought of Potter behind the silencing charm knowing exactly what Draco was doing was somehow as thrilling as it was mortifying. 

And it was that thought that Draco’s foggy brain latched onto. Potter _knew_. And what must he have been thinking? Maybe Potter was curious to hear. And see. And touch. And _taste._ It was an indulgent fantasy to consider Potter would ever think of Draco in such a way but it certainly felt real when Draco came with the image of Potter’s mouth wrapped around his cock, with Potter staring up at him with those soul-baring eyes and smirking as he swallowed.

Too soon, Draco came down from his high, and the fantasy faded, leaving him with only a sticky hand and the awful dread that he’d have to face Potter in the morning. 

He’d never been so relieved not to have his eyesight. 


	6. Chapter 6

**** Draco had fantasied about waking up in bed to the sight of a man beside him (preferably his husband, but he wasn’t picky). He’d never imagined he’d wake up to the sight of his own face staring at him. But that’s exactly how he found himself. 

His eyes were puffy from sleep and his hair looked almost like Potter’s the way it stuck up at all angles. But that was hardly the most concerning thing about his appearance. 

“Merlin, Potter. What are you doing? I’m naked.”

“What?” Potter’s head jerked down and Draco saw himself fully exposed, his duvet thrown off during the night. “Why are you naked?

“I was sleeping,” Draco explained weakly. Fuck, Potter was still looking and Draco had the pleasure – read: agony – of watching himself get hard. “Stop looking at me.”

“I don’t mean to,” Potter said, stumbling backwards from where he’d been leaning over Draco’s bed. “I can’t see anything.”

“What’s going on?” Draco asked as Potter’s vision took in more of the room. Outside the glow of Potter’s wand, it was still dark. “Why are you waking me?”

“I forgot about the silencing charm. I was calling out and– ”

“No more silencing charms,” Draco said quickly, his skin heating at the memory. He had no interest in opening up _that_ discussion with Potter. “Are you...okay?"

“Yeah,” Potter said, shaking his head and turning back to his own bed. “Go back to sleep. I’m fine.”

Draco was not an idiot. Potter was not fine. 

Draco’s mother used to sing him a song before bed, until he’d snapped at her one night and told her he had grown much too old for lullabies. He’d been six. But he remembered perfectly. He started quietly at first, humming out the notes. Weasley might have been fine singing the Chudley Cannons anthem at the top of his lungs but Draco was far less brave.

“What’s that? What are you doing?”

Draco recognised the alarm in Potter’s voice. He didn’t expect Potter would be too happy to find out what Weasley had revealed to him. 

“Sorry. I can’t get this song out of my head,” he lied. “I’ll stop if it’s bothering you?”

Potter didn’t reply immediately so Draco continued humming. He could tell it was working when Potter’s eyes fluttered shut.

“It’s not bothering me,” he said in a small voice a moment later.

Draco smiled to himself. Singing Potter to sleep was perhaps not as horrible as it had sounded.

 

* * *

 

Draco, the mature, of-age Wizard that he was, decided not to speak to Potter the following morning. Potter had too much ammunition against him now – enough to connect the dots about Draco’s feelings if he was smart – and Draco didn’t want to give away anything more. 

The walk to the Great Hall was quiet once Potter realised he wouldn’t be receiving any responses to his blabbering small talk. Draco wouldn’t admit it of course, but he’d rather enjoyed Potter’s awkward one-sided commentary: 

“Did you sleep well? I mean, after…The staircases are slow today, aren’t they?…I wonder if there’ll be spotted dick for breakfast…”

Draco had been tempted to jump in and tell Potter spotted dick was the worst excuse for a pudding he had ever tasted but he held his tongue. Getting into an argument with Potter about dick, spotted or otherwise, was surely not going to help his situation.

Granger ran over them as soon as they entered the Great Hall, a great big book held easily in one arm. “Malfoy!” she called out. “I need to talk to you.” She looped a hand around Draco’s arm and tried to pull him from the Great Hall.

Potter’s hand latched onto the other arm. 

“Why can’t you talk to both of us?”

“This doesn’t concern you, Potter,” Draco said quickly. There was only one thing Granger would want to talk to him about. And he certainly wasn’t ready for Potter to find out they were soulmates. 

“What does that mean? What could you possibly have to talk about without me? Hermione?”

Granger pursed her lips. “Give us five minutes alright? I’m trying to help you both, here.”

“ _Fine_.” Potter dropped Draco’s arm.

Draco wished he could have seen Potter’s face – he could imagine it now, all tense and blotchy. He missed that face. 

“He’s trying to eavesdrop,” Draco told Granger as they settled into an alcove just outside the Great Hall. Potter was standing at the entrance, eyes to the ground as if that would stop Draco from working out where he was. 

“Of course he is.” Granger passed the heavy book into Draco’s arms. “Muffliato,” she whispered a moment later. 

“What did you find out?"

“All my research has led me to soulmate theories.”

“See– "

“ _Frankly_ ,” she interrupted with a huff, “I’m still not convinced they’re anything more than _theories_ – ”

“But?”

“But I’m willing to test out one of these potions to gather empirical and testable evidence one way or another. That way we can rule out– ”

“You don’t need to test the potions, Granger. I’ve already tried them all.”

“ _All_ of them? Really? Are you sure– ”

“Can’t you just trust me?”

Granger didn’t reply immediately. Draco already knew the answer. 

“You can see why that’s not such a simple question, can’t you?” She asked, a disturbing amount of pity leaking into her tone. “Coming from you?”

“Yes, I know, you’re right. But why would I lie about this? Don’t waste your time. The potions are complicated– ”

“So you don’t think I can handle them?”

Draco could hear the challenge in her voice. He would’ve laughed had he not been afraid she’d hex him for it. Potions was the one subject he was confident he could beat her in. 

“Of course you can,” he said instead. “I’m not questioning your ability. I’m not an idiot. It’s just a waste of your time to do something I’ve already tried.”

“It’s not a waste because I won’t be trying the same thing.”

Draco’s ears perked up. ”You found a new potion?"

“No,” Granger said, "but instead of testing for your soulmate, I’ll be testing for Harry’s.”

“Oh.” Draco had never thought of finding out Potter’s soulmate. He’d assumed if Potter’s was his, then naturally he’d be Potter’s. What if he wasn’t? _What if he wasn’t?_

“And since he has no positive feelings for you, the results will be unbiased,” Granger added. 

“You think he still hates me,” Draco realised. 

“Are you forgetting all you’ve done?”

“No. Never. I just thought he– I don’t know. I’m not expecting him to _like_ me or anything. Just forgive me. Maybe. Hopefully.”

“You have to apologise first,” Granger said gently. 

“I’m working on it,” he lied. 

Granger pulled the heavy book back from Draco’s arms. He could hear her flicking through it. 

“Which one would you suggest?” She asked.

“What?”

“Which of these potions?” 

Draco felt his throat tighten, like he might be sick. “Granger,” he said, trying to remain calm. “Please tell me you aren’t holding a book to my face right now.”

Granger gasped and Draco heard the book smash to the floor. “Oh shit,” Granger said. “ _Shit_. I forgot. Sorry, I– ”

“You better think of a good way to explain to Potter what he’s just seen or– ”

“Or what, Malfoy?” Granger’s voice turned hard. “I’m the one covering for you, remember? But go ahead and threaten me. That seems wise.”

“Right. Sorry,” Draco said, quickly backtracking. He didn’t like how quickly his anxiety made him lash out, and, honestly, Granger was particularly intimidating. “I’m not used to– ”

“Having a friend?”

“–relying on other people,” Draco finished. Then he processed Granger’s words. “Are we _friends_?”

“We could be if you stopped being so prickly.”

“I’m not– ” Draco stopped himself before he could argue. If Granger really considered him a friend, he didn’t want to ruin it. “We should get back before Potter tries to find us,” he said instead. 

When they returned to the Great Hall, Potter wouldn’t stop asking questions. They made Draco squirm, but impressively, Granger ignored each one without any hint of discomfort.

“Harry,” she finally said, “I’m sacrificing time I could be using to study for N.E.W.Ts to help you and Malfoy. Maybe you could stop your interrogations and just trust me?”

That shut Potter up, but only temporarily. As soon as Draco was alone with Potter in potions, they started up again. Professor Milligan, aware of their disadvantage, had already prepped their ingredients for them, so there was no concern with Potter mixing things up again. 

“You and Hermione are making a potion,” Potter said – no, _accused_ – in Draco’s ear while Draco tried to blindly heat their cauldron. 

“Yes, Potter,” Draco said drily, feeling around for the first ingredient, “we’re in potions class. That’s kind of the objective.”

“You know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t, actually,” Draco lied, keeping his voice cool so Potter wouldn’t recognise how nervous he was. “Can you look over here? I can’t find the fairy wings.”

Potter, the contrary asshole, dropped his head down even further away from the bench-top. “What have you got to hide?” he asked. 

“Whatever it is, you’re not going to find it in my arse.”

“What?”

“You’re staring at my arse, Potter.”

Potter’s head jerked up immediately. “I didn’t mean– ” he spluttered, “I can’t see– ”

“Look, I’ll take a look in the mirror later for you, okay?” Draco offered, beginning to feel at ease now he was in control. “For now, we’re in class, so I’d appreciate it if you could stay focused. I’m not having you fuck up another potion for me.”

“I didn’t– ”

“Just keep your eyes on the potion,” Draco said, holding back a smile. Potter was too easy. 

“Okay,” Potter said, finally looking at the bench-top. 

Draco saw the fairy wings right by his own hand and continued with the potion. Miraculously, the distraction worked and Potter didn’t ask about his conversation with Granger for the rest of class. 

But Draco hadn’t finished having his fun.

 

* * *

 

“Malfoy!” Potter’s voice yelled from the other room.

“What, Potter?” Draco asked innocently, fixing his eyes more resolutely on the bathroom mirror as he sat half perched on the sink. “Didn’t I get the angle right?”

“I don’t want to stare at your arse, you arsehole.”

“Very clever, Potter. Where do you get your wit?”

“Oh, fuck off,” Potter yelled back. “And stop staring at your arse.”

“You can’t tell me what to do. If I want to stare at my arse all night, you can’t– ”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Potter said, getting up from his bed and following Draco into the bathroom. 

“What are you doing?”

Potter jumped up onto the sink beside Draco and turned his head to the mirror. “Giving you a piece of your own medicine.”

“Oh.”

“Happy now?” Potter asked roughly. 

“Sure,” Draco squeaked. 

They both sat there for a painfully long minute, half perched on the sink, staring at their own arses and seeing each other’s. Draco didn’t feel so in control anymore. 

“Right, he said awkwardly into the tense silence, “well, I’m tired so– ”

“Yeah, me too.”

“Right.” Draco turned away from the mirror and made a mighty quick beeline for his bed. “Night, Potter.”

“Night, Malfoy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [@chibaken](https://o0o-chibaken-o0o.tumblr.com/) for working out how to make staring at each other’s butts possible even without their own eyesight. God bless you.


	7. Chapter 7

Potter slept the night through for once. Even so, Draco didn’t get much sleep. He tossed and turned, keeping his eyes tightly shut, lest Potter suspect he was restless. 

It’s not like he’d never stared at Potter’s arse before. There’d been ample opportunity over the years, and Draco had taken advantage each and every time. But there was something about Potter doing it himself that changed the equation. 

Draco knew why he was teasing Potter – to deflect from his own feelings. But why was Potter teasing him back? To deflect from his own? No, that was hopeful thinking. More likely – and much worse – he knew about Draco’s feelings and found the whole situation laughable. Or pathetic. 

Draco didn’t blame him.

 

* * *

 

The following morning, Potter didn’t try to fill their walk to The Great Hall with any more mindless chatter. Instead, they walked in untouched silence, which was significantly worse. It was a relief when they reached the Gryffindor table to sit with Granger and Weasley.

Weasley looked up as they approached. His plate was already piled high with what looked to be something from every platter on the table. “Rough night?” He asked immediately.

Draco had seen bags under his own eyes when Potter had glanced at him in the morning (before they both quickly turned away) but he didn’t think he looked _that_ bad. 

“Just the nightmares again,” Potter lied before Draco could reply. 

“Has Malfoy been sing– ”

“Potter’s doing just fine, Weasley,” Draco snapped. “Why don’t you focus on your eating with your mouth closed?”

Darco watched through Potter’s eyes as Weasley recoiled slightly in surprise. Draco sighed and fumbled around for a seat. “Sorry,” he muttered to Weasley. He hadn’t quite reconciled that they were somewhat friends yet – being snarky was still second nature. 

Potter hadn’t moved.

“Are you going to stand there all morning?” Granger asked him. 

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Potter answered absent-mindedly as if he hadn’t really heard the question. Regardless, he took a seat next to Draco, leaving a gap only a fraction wider than necessary. 

Granger looked between them with narrowed eyes. “What’s up with you two this morning?”

“Nothing,” Draco said at the same time Potter said, “None of your business.” 

Draco snapped his head to Potter so fast, he felt a twinge in his neck. But of course, he couldn’t see Potter’s face. He’d give anything to know what Potter meant by that. Was there something to tell? But Potter was staring resolutely ahead so all Draco could see was Granger’s curious face.

“Fine,” Granger said. “Have your secrets. Malfoy – that Ancient Runes essay, we should get a start on it after dinner tonight.”

“We don’t– ” Draco started, and then quickly changed course when he saw Granger’s eyes narrow. “Yes,” he said instead, realising Granger’s intention. Ancient Runes was the one class they shared that Potter and Weasley did not. “ _That_ essay. Yes, tonight. Good idea. Tonight. Of course.”

Granger rolled her eyes at Draco’s acting and resumed eating.

Potter didn’t say anything for the rest of breakfast.

 

* * *

 

After dinner, Granger pulled Draco away from the others, giving Weasley the job of helping Potter back to their dormitory. First, she and Draco went to the library where Granger promptly shoved a book in front of Draco’s nose and instructed him to hold it close to his face. Then, she dragged him back out into the corridor. 

“Don’t drop the book. Not even for a second. Or Harry will realise we’re not in the library.”

Draco would have complimented Granger at her ingenious but the words got stuck in his throat. He had a pretty solid guess why. It was pride. All these years of insulting Granger, it felt like admitting he was wrong to offer any niceties. 

Granger led Draco down several corridors and up stairs, their surroundings growing quieter. It couldn’t have been that far, but without any visual to guide him, Draco felt incredibly disoriented. Eventually, they slowed down and Draco could feel wetness seeping into his shoes.

“Granger, where are– ”

“Draco?” Called a high pitched voice that certainly didn’t belong to Granger. “Is that you?”

“Myrtle,” Draco greeted as pleasantly as he could manage through his book. “How– er– are you?”

“ _Lonely._ Since _you_ don’t come and visit me anymore. I suppose you have better things to do now than see poor miserable moaning Myrtle. Better _friends_.”

Before Draco could respond– and how could he respond to an accusation like that?– Granger stepped in. 

“You don’t know the half of what Malfoy’s been through, Myrtle. If you were such a good friend, you’d be more concerned about his wellbeing than his absence.”

“I wasn’t talking to _you_! Why are you here anyway? Looking to give yourself whiskers again?” Myrtle cackled to herself. 

“Actually,” Granger said, pushing Draco into a cubicle, “Malfoy’s unwell and we’re brewing a potion to help find out how to cure him.”

“What’s wrong with him? Is that why you’re hiding your face, Draco? Was it _him_?”

Draco winced. “No, Myrtle. He’s gone.”

“Then who? I’ll haunt their u-bend.”

“It’s nobody’s fault,” Granger said. Draco couldn’t fully agree. It had been Potter who’d fucked up the ingredients after all. “So can we use your bathroom or not?”

“Of course you can, if it’s to help _Draco_.”

Myrtle floated off, a chorus of taps turning on and off as she passed them. 

“I think you’re _her_ soulmate,” Granger whispered.

Draco laughed without thinking. So he was really doing this. He was really becoming friends with Granger. Or should he be calling her Hermione?

Hermione – no too weird – _Granger w_ anted to get a start on the Soulmate Potion tonight and had already pulled all the ingredients and a cauldron from the Potions room in preparation.

“You _stole_ from Professor Milligan?”

“Yes,” Granger said simply as if she stole things all the time. She probably did too. Being friends with Harry Potter had a certain trouble-maker minimum requirement attached to it. 

Granger had chosen a simple soulmate potion that only took 5-6 days to brew, although it still seemed like an awfully long time for Draco to endure Potter for. 

“Now, we’ll need Harry’s hair early on,” Granger explained – Draco didn’t bother to remind her he’d made this very potion before. “That’s easy. But we’ll also need him to complete the final– ”

“HARRY _POTTER?_ ” Myrtle shrieked from across the bathroom. Draco shivered as he felt her materialise in the toilet beside them. “You’re not letting him in here, are you?”

“I thought you liked Harry,” Granger said cautiously. 

“He almost MURDERED Draco.”

“It was an accident,” Draco said flatly. 

“AN ACCIDENT? There was blood in the pipes for weeks. I thought you were dead. We could have haunted this bathroom together, you know.”

“Er– Thanks, Myrtle?”

After assuring Myrtle Potter would not be invited into her bathroom, Granger and Draco began the potion. Well, Granger did. Draco gave instructions. Sometimes Granger would “harrumph” at them or say “That’s not what the book says.” Without Potter’s eyes, Draco had no clue if she followed any of his advice at all.

After a couple of hours of work, they lowered the cauldron to a soft heat for the night and returned to the dormitory, via the library – where Draco was finally able to drop the book. His arms were starting to ache from holding it up for so long.

 

* * *

 

Potter must have suspected something was up. Draco having his head in one book for hours could hardly be something he’d overlook. But he didn’t say anything when Draco returned. Just rolled over in bed and closed his eyes as if to say “I know you’re here and I don’t care.”

Draco resigned himself to yet another early night. There wasn’t much to do in the dormitory besides talking to Potter, and that didn’t seem like a possibility tonight. He felt his way around the room and prepared himself for bed, clumsily relieving himself in the toilet with his eyeballs fixed on the ceiling, and then brushing his teeth with his eyes closed. He didn’t fancy Potter seeing him in such an unflattering position. 

By the time he’d changed into his pyjamas and stumbled into bed, he assumed Potter would have fallen asleep. But as soon as he was settled, Potter spoke up. 

“Why were you staring at a book all night?”

So he _was_ suspicious. 

“Research. For the essay. I was reading– ”

“You were reading,” Potter repeated blankly. 

“Yes, I am capable of read– ” Draco cut off as he realised his mistake. “Oh.” He wasn’t capable of reading now. Not when his eyes weren’t his own. 

“If it’s about us,” Potter said with forced calmness, “you should tell me now. I could help.”

_Of course._

“You can’t help.”

“And why not? I’m just as cursed as you are! If you’re hiding the cure– ”

“And why would I do that?”

“Malfoy,” Potter said slowly, his voice unsuccessfully concealing anger, “are you hiding the cure?”

“Oh, fuck off. Do you think I like you spying on me all the time?”

“That’s not an answer.”

“No,” Draco lied. “I’m not.”

Silence. Potter didn’t say any more, and Draco knew better than to say anything that might set him off again. Potter was better off not knowing the cure. Knowing him, the noble idiot that he was, he’d probably just feel guilty. And _that_ , Draco could not cope with. 

Draco rolled over in bed, turning his back on Potter. He was hardly going to get to sleep now with his heart beating in his head after a fight. He tried to relax and concentrate on the sound of rustling leaves and creaking branches from the Whomping Willow outside. 

It wasn’t long until another sound stole his focus. 

“What are you doing, Potter?”

The room silenced immediately. 

“Breathing?” came the soft-spoken answer. And then, “I can stop.”

“Stop breathing? Don’t be ridiculous, Potter,” Draco quickly snapped back. This couldn’t be happening. He wondered if perhaps he’d fallen asleep without realising. 

“Okay. I’ll keep...breathing then.”

_This was really happening._

“And I’m sure you won’t mind if I breathe too," Draco found himself saying. "I know we’re enemies but I imagine you don’t want me dead.”

“Obviously,” Potter said quietly – Draco needed no further encouragement. “Malfoy, I’m not– ”

Potter stopped there, mid-sentence. The unspoken words hung between them.

_Gay._

_Malfoy, I’m not gay._

Draco would have rolled his eyes had he not been scared of giving Potter any reason to stop. It did seem at least a _little_ gay to simultaneously jerk off with your male dorm mate, but Potter’s sexual awareness was low on the list of Draco’s priorities. Right now, if Potter was interested in doing this, then Draco was hardly going to question it. 

And when instead of finishing his sentence, Potter resumed to the earlier noises that had put the Whomping Willow to same, Draco forgot the words entirely and joined in.

This was different to the last time. Potter listening was one thing. Potter _participating_ was another. And the noise! Draco considered himself fairly vocal, although he tried to contain it as best he could, but Potter! Potter was unrestrained. Draco could barely hear his own breathing over the sound of Potter’s panting. It was unexpected and encouraging.

Perhaps a little too encouraging. Because it made Draco very horny and very reckless, a particularly dangerous combination. He wanted Potter to _see_ him. Although he wasn’t sure if he really dared until his left hand grasped around his duvet, (his right hand already well occupied). 

All in a rush, Draco pulled backed the covers, looked down and opened his eyes. 

Potter gasped. 

Draco had all of two seconds to worry he may have taken things too far and then Potter’s eyes were opening and he was pulling his own covers back too.  Thankfully the moon was almost full and had cast the room in an unnaturally bright glow. Through Potter’s eyes, Draco could see _everything_. 

Safe to say, he didn’t last much longer after that. And Potter was just as fast.

_Not gay, my arse_ , Draco thought. Which spurred on several more thoughts involving Potter to the point where he was quickly ready for round two.  But Potter hadn’t made a sound after finishing, as if he were holding his breath. And when Draco opened his mouth to make a suggestion, Potter cut him off.

“Goodnight, Malfoy,” he said curtly and closed his eyes. 

Humiliation hit Draco first, his face flooding with heat. Anger came next, white hot in his veins. For a moment, a fanciful pathetic moment, he’d forgotten how Potter felt about him. Remembering was unkind. 

“Whatever, Potter,” he snapped back, anger diluting his wit. Then he rolled over and tried to sleep, returning his concentration to the wind outside. But all had stilled.  Even the Whomping Willow was quiet.

Another restless night then. 


	8. Chapter 8

It was silly the things Draco missed about having his sight. Like right now, all he wanted to do was stare at the bed canopy above him and have a sulk about Potter. He still sulked of course, just in the dark instead.  Potter didn’t like him. In fact, Potter probably still hated him. Last night didn’t change that. It only made it more humiliating.

Potter was still asleep or pretending to be, so Draco bumbled around the room blindly, getting dressed. He couldn’t stand to be around Potter anymore, so left, deciding he could make it to the Great Hall on memory alone. 

It was all going well until he got to the very first staircase and one of his legs got stuck in a trick step. It was early and Draco couldn’t hear anyone else around. On the one hand, he was thankful – he didn’t fancy anyone finding him in such a vulnerable position. On the other, he had no hope of getting out unassisted. 

Draco knew Potter was awake now because he was staring at the underside of Potter’s bed canopy - perhaps Potter was having his own sulk. With great reluctance, Draco opened his eyes wide and looked down at the stair eating his leg, knowing Potter would understand what had happened. Then he sat down and awaited his humiliating fate. 

Potter had more trouble finding his way out of the dormitory than Draco had. Draco winced as he watched Potter walk into basically every wall on the way. Finally, Draco spotted his own body sitting pathetically on the stairs and he turned around to give Potter a sense of direction. 

“Why did you– ” Potter started.

“Don’t. Just get me out.”

Potter crouched down and his hands came up under Draco’s arms to lock around his shoulders. It was a little bit like being hugged from behind. Draco found the intimacy particularly funny in a tragic, ironic sort of way.

“Are you alright?”

Draco realised he’d laughed aloud. Potter probably thought he was out of his mind. “Get on with it,” he snapped.

Potter heaved upwards, pulling Draco tighter against him, but the stair held. Potter took a deep breath that tickled Draco’s ear and tried again. This time, Draco felt his ankle shift slightly. Potter readjusted his grip and heaved once more. Draco’s leg sprung free almost immediately but his balance was off and Potter was still pulling, so he stumbled backwards against Potter’s body and they went crashing back to the ground. 

Draco’s vision was full of his own hair. He could feel Potter’s body completely beneath him, his chest moving up and down erratically. If he shifted his arse just slightly he could probably feel–

Draco immediately rolled off Potter and onto his knees, colour surfacing on his face. He had no business thinking about such things in the light of day. Particularly when Potter wasn’t gay. Or interested in him. Draco found his way to his feet, ignoring the numbness in his left leg. 

“Thanks,” he said quickly, to get it over and done with. Then he continued his walk down to breakfast. 

Except now he had a tail.

“Go back to bed, Potter.”

“I would but I don’t fancy having to come all the way back when you need rescuing again.”

Draco clenched his jaw. “I don’t need rescuing.” 

Potter laughed. 

Draco bit back another retort and took a seat in the Great Hall in silence. He spotted a basket of green apples on the table through Harry’s eyes and clumsily picked one up. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to losing his vision. But he supposed he didn’t have much of a choice. 

Draco didn’t realise he had automatically taken a seat at the Slytherin table until some of the early rising first years came into the hall and took their seats. They all gave Draco and Potter a wide berth, some shooting timid looks Potter’s way. Their enthusiasm for early mornings and school would fade soon enough. 

Potter didn’t complain about the seating situation.In fact, he didn’t talk at all. Or eat. He sat beside Draco with his head in his hands, staring out across the hall. 

Weasley and Granger appeared near the end of the breakfast, taking a seat at the Gryffindor table before spotting them and heading over. 

“Great look, mate,” Weasley said to Potter, taking a seat across from them. 

“What?”

“You’re in your pyjamas,” Granger explained. 

Potter looked down at himself in surprise, but it was Draco who saw Potter’s loose t-shirt and the striped pyjama pants that were stuffed into his school shoes. Draco wondered if Potter’s hair was sporting a similar look – he missed seeing that awful hair every day. 

“I forgot,” Potter said. He didn’t seem particularly concerned that he was sitting in the middle of the Great Hall in his pyjamas. If Draco were in the same position, he’d have to move schools or seek authorisation from the Ministry of Magic to obliviate everyone present.

“Hurry up, then,” Granger urged. “Class will be starting soon.”

Potter stood up, stumbling a little as he extracted himself from the bench. Draco was glad to be rid of him again. Every moment in his presence felt like an impending collision.

Of course, Weasley had to spoil it. “Aren’t you going with him?” He asked. 

“I’m not his house-elf.”

“But you are his eyes,” Granger pointed out. 

Draco sighed loudly so everyone present could hear how inconvenienced he was (and how little he cared at all about Harry Potter). “Fine.”

Potter found his voice on the walk back up the dormitory – unfortunately. 

“We should talk.”

Draco felt a familiar tightness in his stomach. “About what?”

“You know…” Potter said in a quiet voice. 

“Would you like me to read your mind, Potter?” Draco asked, in what he hoped was a scathing voice. “I’m certain you wouldn’t take too kindly to me using Legilimency against you.”

Potter was not fooled. “You know _exactly_ what I’m talking about.”

“As far as I can tell, you’re not talking about anything at the moment. You’re making vague implications that I’m somehow supposed to piece together.”

Potter rolled his eyes – it made Draco dizzy.“Whatever, Malfoy. Forget it.”

“Nothing to forget.”

Potter sighed. “You’re so–  _urgh_.”

“ _I’m so urgh,”_ Draco repeated. “How incredibly eloquent of you.”

Potter made another grumbling noise and they walked on in silence. 

When they reached the dormitory, Draco had had enough. Of Potter, of the day, of not having his own goddamn sight. He felt for his bedposts and then swivelled around and collapsed onto his bed. 

“What are you doing? We have class.”

Draco pulled the duvet up to his chin. “Don’t feel like it.”

“It isn’t optional.”

“We have a pretty solid excuse,” Draco pointed out. “Your eyesight is giving me a headache.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” Potter said. He had closed his eyes but Draco could hear him shuffling about, getting dressed. “Get up.”

“No.”

“Malfoy, I really can’t skip class. Please– ”

“What does it matter if you’re in class or not? You’re _The Chosen One_. They already have your office all polished and ready for you in the Auror Department. There’s nothing you can do to fuck that up.”

Potter reopened his eyes. He was looking down and Draco could see he’d done a woeful job of tucking in his shirt. “I don’t want to be an Auror,” he said quietly.

That surprised Draco. But it didn’t make a difference. Potter could have any job he wanted. “Then what? A teacher? You wouldn’t even need to submit an application.”

Potter shrugged – his vision bopping along with the motion. “I don’t know.”

“Why are you so worried about your grade then?”

“Everyone expects things of me,” Potter said. He was talking so quietly, Draco had to strain his ears to hear him. “I don’t want to prove them wrong.”

Draco laughed. Only Potter could turn his hero status into a negative. Although, Draco found he understood the feeling completely, if not separately. 

“What?” Potter asked. 

“It seems we have opposite problems,” Draco explained, keeping his voice light to avoid falling into self-pity. “Nobody expects anything of me.”

Potter was silent for a moment and then he slumped down onto his own bed. “Are we just skipping Transfiguration or the whole day?” He asked. 

Draco thought about it. He’d only considered as far as his initial tantrum. “I haven’t decided.”

“Are you going to sleep?” Potter asked.

“No.” The possible implication of the question hit Draco a moment too late. “Why?” He asked sharply. 

“I just mean we could play a game.”

A number of ‘games’ filled Draco’s mind, all ending (and one also starting) with Potter naked. 

“Chess,” Potter clarified in a loud voice. “I meant chess.”

Draco tried not to give any time to his disappointment. It was better to avoid any more _physical experiences_ with Potter. In a game of hearts, it was Draco who would always lose. 

“Fine,” Draco agreed, "but don’t get any ideas about winning. I’m exceptionally good.”

“I’m sure you are.”

 

* * *

 

As expected, Draco won every game. It took some time getting used to seeing the game through his opponent’s eyes, but ultimately it made his gameplay better. He could see things on the board he often overlooked, all by changing his perspective. 

“You should play Ron,” Potter said, as he packed up. “He’s probably more your match than I am.”

Draco laid back against the armchair he had claimed by the common room fire. “And why would he play with me?”

Potter looked up so Draco could see himself. “You don’t have to be so standoff-ish, you know.”

“And _you_ don’t have to be so meddling,” Draco retorted, hating the way his face twisted as he spoke.

“We could be friends,” Potter said out of nowhere. “If you weren’t such a jerk, obviously.”

Draco watched the shock play out across his face. His mouth was gaping open in a terribly unattractive manner. It was fortunate Potter couldn’t see him at all. 

It was a beat before Draco could form words. “But I am a jerk.”

“Not always,” was Potter’s unexpected reply. And then as if he hadn’t just turned Draco’s entire world on its axis: “Shall we head to lunch?”

 

* * *

 

The rest of the day went by in a bit of a blur. Potter was behaving oddly and Draco couldn’t quite reconcile it in his mind. There was an easy - and hopeful - answer but it made Draco nervous to think about. He couldn’t think about something as optimistic as that until he was certain. 

Granger pulled Draco away after dinner and Potter didn't even bother to question them about it. The potion was progressing well. At least if the way Granger described it was any indication. They had just added Potter’s hairs – pulled from a hairbrush in the bathroom that Draco was surprised Potter even knew how to use – and the potion had turned a bright red.

“Scarlet?” Draco asked.

“Maybe,” Granger said. “It’s red.”

“It has to be scarlet,” Draco stressed. “Not vermillion, not crimson. _Scarlet._ ” He had to know if he was Potter's soulmate too. 

“Fine then, it’s scarlet.”

“You’re just saying that.”

Granger placed a hand on Draco’s shoulder. “Relax, Draco. I’ve got this.”

The warmth from Granger’s hand felt out of place, like she’d reached for the wrong person. “You called me Draco.”

“Don’t get all sentimental about it. We have work to do.”

The hand rubbed gently and then retracted, but its warmth remained.


	9. Chapter 9

Time was running out. The potion still had days before it was complete, and even when it was, it wasn’t a cure. Just confirmation Potter was his soulmate. Or a reality check that he wasn’t. Draco wasn’t looking forward to the answer either way. He couldn’t decide which was sadder. 

Potter may have been being civil, friendly even, but tolerating someone was a far cry from loving them, and Draco knew better than to read too far into Potter’s actions. Potter was still the noble crusader of the Wizarding World, and Draco was still a Death Eater. 

When Draco returned to his dorm – with Hermione’s guidance – Potter was waiting for him. Only after Draco watched himself enter the room through Potter’s eyes did he realise Potter was not in his own bed. He was in Draco’s. 

Draco watched the blush spread across his own face. He hoped the same embarrassment wouldn’t be obvious in his voice. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“I wanted to talk,” Potter said.

Draco gritted his teeth. He didn’t want to talk. Not about this. Potter was almost certainly going to make it a humiliating experience. He leaned against the doorway, trying to act indifferent. “My bed is useful for a lot of things, but talking isn’t one of them.”

“That’s not– I– it wasn’t – ”

“Spit it out, Potter.”

Potter mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like it had the word ‘swallow’ in it. But that had to be Draco’s cock talking. “Nevermind,” Potter said clearly. “Let’s talk in the bathroom.”

“Not usually a place for conversation either.”

“I want to see your face when we talk.”

_Shit_. Draco willed his face to cool down.“Why?”

“Because I can’t stand this anymore. I look at you and I see my own face staring at me. It’s so off-putting.”

Draco understood how Potter felt completely. He hated staring at his own face, hated the way his emotions so clearly played out across it. But he didn’t want Potter to see that either. He considered denying Potter and climbing into bed but he’d only be delaying the inevitable. Potter was a stubborn bastard.

“Fine.”

Draco let Potter got first, enjoying the opportunity to see Potter’s face in private. He hadn’t realised how much he missed that stupid hair or those ridiculous glasses. Fuck. His face was heating back up. 

“You have to look in the mirror too,” Potter prompted.

Draco quickly ran through a list of mundane things in his head – overused quills, mops, Professor Binns’ rants – to keep the flush from his face. Then he walked into the bathroom and looked up. Potter didn’t waste any time. 

“I want to talk about last night.” 

Draco concentrated on keeping his face a cold mask.

“I know you know what I mean,” Potter continued. 

Draco was careful not to react. 

“Whatever,” Potter said when Draco didn’t reply. “I just– I don’t think we should do it again.” 

Draco couldn’t help the twitch of his jaw– that hurt. 

“I meant to tell you I’m not a one night stand kind of person but I– ” 

“Sounds very much like you _are_ a one night stand kind of person,” Draco interrupted. He’d lost his indifference – now he was mad. 

“That’s not– I’m not saying I didn’t _enjoy_ it– ”

“Then what’s the problem? You worried about hurting my _feelings_ , Gryffindor? Think I can’t separate an orgasm from a relationship?” 

Potter’s eyes flashed but he didn’t say anything. 

“Or are you still trying to convince yourself you’re not gay? Because I’ve got news for you, Potter, getting off with another man makes you very, very– ” 

Potter launched, twisting Draco’s body around and pressing him up against the sink. Draco gripped onto the edge with both hands to avoid bending over backwards. He was staring into his own eyes, and he could feel Potter’s breath on his lips.

“Gay,” Draco finished in a whisper and then Potter’s lips were on him, his tongue already pressing insistently at Draco’s mouth. Hands gripped Draco’s hips with a tightness that was bordering on painful, but he liked it. Merlin, he liked it. He closed his eyes and just felt Potter against him – his body, his tongue, and was that his– 

Potter’s hands travelled further down past Draco’s hips and curled up underneath his thighs. Draco knew what was next – he brought his hands to Potter’s neck and held on tight as Potter lifted him up onto the sink bench. One of the taps dug into Draco’s side but he ignored it. It was inconsequential when he could now lock his legs around Potter’s waist and pull him flush against his cock. 

Draco could tell Potter liked that because he made one of _those_ noises, the noises burned into Draco’s head since the previous night. Sight was overrated, Draco though. It was nothing compared to hearing that noise and feeling Potter’s body so completely like this. 

Then Potter’s eyes opened and he trailed his lips down the line of Draco’s neck. And Draco changed his mind immediately. Sight was everything. Because – oh Merlin –  Potter was staring past Draco’s shoulder into the mirror with such deliberate intensity, Draco’s legs would have given way if he weren’t sitting. 

Potter had to know exactly what he was doing. That only made it all the more hotter. 

And Potter didn’t stop there. He kept his eyes on Draco’s – well his own – in the mirror as one of his hands crept up Draco’s thigh. Draco spread his legs wider, willing Potter’s hand to creep further, to touch him there, to make him–

_Yes. There._

Draco made a noise he wasn’t particularly proud of and Potter smirked. _Potter. Smirked_. With his lips on Draco’s neck and his hand on Draco’s cock. 

It took all Draco’s self-control not to give in to that smirk and come on the spot. But he refused to give Potter the satisfaction. Imagine the taunts if Potter thought he could get Draco off just by smirking. Imagine the endless teasing. 

On seconds thoughts, it didn’t sound too bad. 

Potter was still smirking, the bastard. The sexy wicked bastard. And now his hand was taking a break from rubbing Draco’s cock in favour of working on the buttons to Draco’s trousers. Draco made his approval of this known by holding his hips up from the sink – ready for his trousers to be removed. 

But Potter didn’t bother with that. As soon as Draco’s trousers were loose, he shoved his hand down them, slipping past Draco’s underpants on the way and taking hold of–

_Yes. There._

Draco was making more noises now. Constantly. But in his absolute defence, Harry Potter’s hand was on his bare cock. Draco could feel himself getting closer and closer – past the point of no return. And Potter’s eyes were there staring at him, goading him on. 

_Fuck. Oh fuck. Yes._

Then Potter grazed his teeth against Draco’s neck and it was all over. Draco couldn’t hold it back any longer – nor did he want to – and he was coming. His head was thrown back, eyes closed, and yet there was Potter’s face looking at him, staring at him. Fuck, that was hot. 

And then it was done. Potter extracted his hand from Draco’s trousers and took a deep breath that Draco felt all the way down his spine. 

“I’m not gay,” Potter said into the mirror. 

Draco was about to laugh and make a comment on the hardness of Potter’s cock but before he could, Potter continued–

“I’m bi. And I’ve known for a very long time.”

Potter took a step back, extracting himself from Draco’s legs. Draco felt the absence dearly.  He could see himself now. Flushed – despite his earlier efforts – and dishevelled with bright pink lips and vacant eyes. He’d much rather look at Potter again.

“So don’t presume to know anything about me,” Potter finished. And then he walked out. 

It wasn’t until Draco watched Potter tuck himself completely into bed – his own bed – that Draco realised he wasn’t coming back. He readjusted his pants, ran a hand through his hair and followed Potter out. 

“What the fuck?”

Potter didn’t reply.

Draco stomped over to Potter’s bed. “What the fuck?” He asked again. 

“Sleeping now,” Potter muttered into his pillow. 

“But you can’t just do that and leave.”

“Why not?”

“Well because,” Draco started and then faltered, “…because…”

“What’s the matter, Malfoy?” mumbled Potter, but Draco could hear the smirk still on his face. “Can’t separate an orgasm from a relationship?”

“No,” Draco said quickly. His face was heating up again. “That’s not what this is.”

“Then go to bed.”

Draco didn’t move. “But you haven’t– ”

“I don’t want to.”

“You don’t want to get off?” Draco asked in disbelief.

“Not with you.”

A sharp pain hit Draco in the chest. It pulled at his lungs but he forced his words out. “Oh, thanks very much, Potter.” He had to pause for a breath. "Fuck you too.”

“Not interested in that either.”

“You– how dare– urgh!”

Potter’s laughter was muffled by his pillow. “How very eloquent of you, Malfoy.”

“Fuck off,” Draco said. Brilliantly. Then he stomped back over to his own bed. 

What was Potter playing at? He had been rock hard before. He must have wanted it. He was probably laying in his stupid bed right now with his stupid hard cock regretting trying to make a stupid point and wishing he’d waited until Draco had sucked his cock. Because Draco had been totally ready to get on his knees. Potter could act all high and mighty like he didn’t want to get his dick sucked but, _really_ , Draco had won this round. And Potter was an idiot.

At least that’s what Draco told himself. It was that or face he’d been completely humiliated by Potter. And that was not something he was interested in considering. 

If it were possible to seethe yourself to sleep, that’s what Draco did. He gritted his teeth around Potter’s name and ran through every swear word he knew on a loop until he drifted into sleep. 

The sleep didn’t last long. 

Draco woke up to Potter screaming. And not in the good way. 

“Potter,” Draco called out, forgetting all of his anger immediately. “You’re fine. Everything’s fine.” 

The screaming stopped. Draco heard Potter’s bedsheets rustle. 

“Potter?”

“Sorry,” Potter said. His voice was rough from sleep. “Don’t worry about me. Just sleep.”

“That’ll be difficult if you keep screaming though, won’t it?”

“I’m not screaming.”

“Not now,” Draco agreed. “But how do I know you’re not going to start up again?”

“If it’s that big a problem for you, why don’t you go sleep outside?”

“Calm down, Potter. I’m asking how I can help.”

There was a small pause. When Potter spoke, his voice was softer. “You want to help?”

“Well, you got me off,” Draco said, quickly backtracking, lest Potter suspect he cared. “I owe you a favour.”

Potter’s soft voice disappeared. “Forget it.”

“Not likely.”

Potter sighed. “There’s nothing you can do to help anyway.”

“Are you sure? Nothing Weasley used to do to help out?”

“Yes– No– what did he tell you?”

“Nothing,” Draco lied. “Just can’t imagine he enjoyed the screaming much either.”

“Go to sleep, Malfoy.”

“ _You_ go to sleep, Potter.”

“Brilliant.”

“Fuck off, Potter.”

“ _You_ fuck off, Malfoy.”

Draco smiled at that – against his better judgement. Then he started humming. Potter didn't say anything else.


	10. Chapter 10

Potter was being difficult. Even more so than usual. There was a smugness to his attitude that Draco couldn’t bear.

“I don’t see what you’re smiling about,” Draco snapped at breakfast.

Potter laughed - see? _Smug_. “How can you even tell I’m smiling?”

“You’re giving off a vibe. Stop it.”

“Why don’t you– ”

“You do realise you two aren’t the only ones at this table, right?” Interrupted Hermione.

Draco harrumphed into his porridge. At least he thought it was porridge. He’d taken a bowl of something hot from the centre of the table. 

“Draco is just grumpy because I beat him at his own game.”

“I don’t know what you mean, Potter. And it’s Draco now, is it? Since when?”

“Since– ”

“I really don’t want to know what’s going on, do I?” Weasley asked. 

“Chess,” Potter lied. “I beat Draco at chess.”

“You certainly did _n_ – ” 

Weasley laughed loudly, cutting Draco off. “You must be dead awful if Harry beat you.”

“I’ll have you know I am an excellent chess player, Weasley.”

“Sure you are, Malfoy,” Weasley goaded. 

Draco sat up straight. “Is that a challenge?”

“If you really want to humiliate yourself.”

“I’ll be more than happy to humiliate _you_.”

“And I’ll be happy when– ”

Hermione exhaled loudly and Ron quieted. “You two aren’t the only ones on this table, either.”

Draco returned his attention to the bowl in front of him – it was, in fact, porridge he discovered as he tasted it, but it was the horrid kind with raisins so he promptly spat it back out. Potter made a gagging noise which turned into a laugh.

“Didn’t take you for a spitter,” he whispered in Draco’s ear. 

Draco quickly pushed the bowl away and stood up. “Time for class,” he announced. “Hermione?”

 

* * *

 

Weasley, it turned out, was very serious about Chess. Draco wanted to go check on the potion with Hermione after dinner but Weasley had insisted they battle it out immediately. 

Hermione snuck off but Potter stayed, sitting next to Draco on the couch as his eyes. Draco didn’t see why Potter couldn’t sit a foot away, rather than pressed up at his side but he didn’t say anything, lest Potter make a smug remark again. 

It was obvious from the outset that Weasley was a wonderful player. He knew exactly how Draco was going to play before he did it. He was a far worthier opponent than Potter. Potter, who attacked head-on with no strategy. Potter, who, right now, felt deliciously warm against Draco’s thigh. 

Concentrating on the game was difficult but Draco was determined to show Weasley up. The board was covered in the dust of fallen pieces but they both still had a good fight in them. Then, Weasley smiled, big and wide with his eyes glinting, and Draco knew ten moves before it happened that he was going to lose. He played on stubbornly anyway, telling himself Weasley would slip up and he still had a chance. Until, inevitably– 

“Checkmate.”

Draco leant back and threw his head over the back of the couch with a big sigh. “Gloat away, Weasley.”

“You played really well, actually.”

Draco sat back up. “Don’t make this worse than it is. Just enjoy your win and gloat. I don’t want any consolation prizes.”

“But you _were_ really good!" Draco watched through Potter's eyes as Weasley's smile dropped, the cogs turning in his head. "Wait, there’s no way Harry could have beaten you. Did you let him win?”

Potter chuckled under his breath – Merlin knows how he could be smug about this too – and Draco groaned. “Potter did _not_ beat me. He’s a liar or he’s confused, but he did not beat me. 

Weasley kept frowning. “Never mind,” Draco said standing up. “I need Hermione. Can you send her a Patronus or something?”

Weasley stood up too. “You and Hermione are close,” he said. Or accused. 

“Not really.”

“You’ve stopped called her Granger.”

“Yes, well last names are archaic and reductive,” Draco covered quickly. 

“You still call me Weasley.”

“Fine. If you insist, I’ll call you Ronald.”

“That’s not– ”

“What about me?” Potter perked up. 

Draco hesitated. 

“Well?”

“H– ” Draco started but he couldn’t get anything else out. “You’ll always be Potter to me,” he said instead. 

Weas– Ronald laughed but Potter remained silent. Draco wished he could see his face. 

* * *

 

Hermione came back to the shared common room shortly after. Ronald had actually sent the Patronus. Draco was starting to warm to him, despite his unfortunate name. 

Draco insisted Hermione take him back up to the potion, but she didn’t see the point.

“You can’t see anything anyway. It’s almost ready. Just a couple more nights and we’ll be able to test it.”

“You added the Unicorn hair?”

“Yes– ”

“And you saw the telltale silver sheen after you stirred it twelve– ”

“Draco, I know what I’m doing.” 

“You don’t believe in soulmates though. What if– ”

“If you’re implying I’m slacking off with the potion because I don’t think it will work, then you’re discounting the hours I have spent on it every night this week. Remember, _I’m_ helping _you_.”

“I know,” Draco said, backing down. “Sorry.”

“Although,” Hermione said, her tone changing, “I don’t know how much you really need my help.”

“What?”

Draco felt a hand land on his shoulder. “Draco,” Potter said loudly. “Are you coming to bed?”

Draco heard Hermione giggle and he knew his face was beetroot red. “Er, yes, sure.” 

Potter led them up to their dorm, gripping Draco’s wrist unnecessarily. 

“What are you doing?” Draco asked when Potter closed the door behind him. 

“I changed my mind.”

Draco snorted. “That’s hardly a surprise,” he said with forced bravado. But inside, his stomach had lurched itself up into his throat. 

“What do you mean?”

“You’re so inconsistent,” Draco said honestly. “I can’t keep up.”

“So are you,” Potter accused. 

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m– what do you want?”

Potter didn’t answer.

“Oh, I see,” Draco said. “ _Now_ you’re shy.”

“I’m not shy,” Potter said, but the previous confidence had disappeared from his voice. “I just don’t know how to– ”

“Whatever it is, just say it.”

“Alright. I was wondering if perhaps– ”

“Spit it out,” Draco said, rolling his eyes. 

Potter made a strangling sound before starting again. “Well, I thought we could– ”

“Before I’m an old warlock, please.”

“SUCK MY DICK,” Potter yelled. 

Draco froze, stuck between wanting to laugh and wanting to do exactly as Potter asked. “Excuse me?” He said, settling for indignant reproach. “You can’t just demand I suck your dick, Potter. What the fuck?”

“I was trying to ask politely,” Potter said in a squeaky voice. “You rushed me!”

“That’s hardly an excuse for such poor manners. ‘Suck my dick’? Are you serious?” 

“I didn’t mean it like– I thought you wanted– ”

“Who propositions someone like that?” Draco continued, wishing he could see Potter’s reaction. “‘ _Suck_ my dick’? ‘Suck my _dick_ ’?”

“Whatever, just forget it.” Potter turned away, heading towards his bed. 

“Wait, Potter,” Draco said quickly, “I didn’t say I wouldn’t do it.” 

Potter stopped.

“But it is awfully presumptuous and selfish of you,” Draco continued. “A gentleman would first offer to suck my dick, before requesting the same treatment back.”

“Fine, then,” Potter said immediately. “Let’s do that.”

Draco had to stop a weird sound that threatened to escape from his throat. “I’m only teasing,” he said. 

“I’m not,” Potter said. “But I want you in front of the mirror so I can see your face.”

So they were really doing this. Draco didn’t have any reply other than his gaping mouth which Potter couldn’t see so he gave up on pretences and walked into the bathroom.

“Go on,” Potter urged, after following him in. “Face the mirror.”

“You’re a kinky bastard,” Draco said, but he did what Potter asked all the same.

“It’s not kinky to want to see your face. I hardly ever get to see your face anymore.” 

Draco kept his face as neutral as possible, lest Potter realise how much that statement affected him. 

“And I obviously need to monitor your reaction to know whether I’m doing it right or not,” Potter added. 

“Trust me, Potter, if your mouth is on my dick, you’re doing it right.”

Potter didn’t quip back but he did something much better: he dropped to his knees. Draco had a front row seat to the action as Potter undid the buttons to his trousers. He didn’t particularly want to see his own cock from that angle but he certainly took pleasure in seeing how close Potter was. 

Potter must have realised the awkward visuals Draco would be seeing as well because he closed his eyes before he pulled Draco’s trousers and pants down. Draco flinched as they  caught embarrassingly on his erection.

“You’re already hard,” Potter said with surprise, as he guided Draco’s cock out of his pants.

“Isn’t that a prerequisite?”

“But you were fully hard before I even touched you.”

“We’ve just had a lengthy conversation about sucking dick, Potter. I’d love to know, in your expert opinion, what the adequate level of hardness my dick should be right now.”

“I don’t know,” Potter said. “I didn’t think we were having a sexy conversation about sucking dick. I thought we were arguing.”

“Arguing about sucking dick is still talking about sucking dick, which you seem more interested in than _actually sucking my dick._ ”

“I am too interested in sucking your dick.”

“Then why aren’t you sucking my dick?” Draco asked. 

“Because– _fine!_ Potter’s hand slid to the base of Draco’s cock. “I’m going to suck your dick now," he announced. 

“Fi– “ Draco tried to reply but his words got lost in a half-moan half-whimper as Potter’s mouth surrounded his cock. It felt so incredibly delightful, Draco forgot he was supposed to be guarding his own facial reactions. His eyes fluttered close involuntarily, and almost immediately the delightful feeling ceased. 

“Keep your eyes open,” Potter whispered.

As soon as Draco followed instruction, Potter’s mouth was back on him. Draco knew he had to be making all kinds of embarrassing faces into the mirror. It was strange that Potter wanted to see that. Strange that Potter wanted to do this again after he’d been so dismissive yesterday.

“Why did you change your mind?” Draco blurted out. 

Potter slid his mouth off Draco’s cock. “You want to have a conversation now?” He asked incredulously. 

“Right,” Draco said, realising he had lost the delightful feeling yet again. “Never mind. Carry on.” 

Potter, unsurprisingly, was very good at sucking dick and the way his tongue curled, he definitely knew it too. His smugness was much more tolerable, Draco decided, when Potter was on his knees. 

Draco knew he was still giving Potter an embarrassing show in the mirror but it was now impossible to care. In fact, once he got over the embarrassment, it was actually kind of hot to have Potter watching him while he– 

And then it was over. Humiliatingly quickly. But for once, Potter didn’t comment. He swallowed- at least Draco assumed because he didn’t hear him spit. Then he tucked Draco’s cock back into his pants, opened his eyes and stood up. Draco looked into his own flushed face and turned away, but it only gave him the same view in profile. 

“Stop looking at me,” Draco mumbled. 

“I’m not– oh.” Potter looked down and slipped past Draco towards the door.

“Wait,” Draco said. “I thought we had a deal?”

There was a pause.

“ _Ohhhh_ ,” Potter finally said, turning around in the doorway, “right, yeah.”

“You don’t want me to suck your dick anymore?” 

“No, no, I definitely want you to suck my dick.” 

“If you're so keen, why were you leaving? Did you _change your mind_ again?”

“No, I’m just, I don’t know– ” 

“Are you getting shy on me again?”

“I’m not shy. I’m just not– whatever.” Potter walked back into the bathroom and positioned himself in front of the mirror. “Go on.”

Draco snorted. “You seem awfully unsure for someone who goes around yelling ‘suck my dick’.”

“I didn’t mean to yell. You’re the one making a big deal out of it. If you don’t want to- ” 

“Be patient, Potter. Of course I’m going to suck your dick. Unlike you, I am a gentleman. I’m just making sure you’re giving the experience the proper anticipation it deserves.”

“You are such a– ” 

Draco dropped to his knees. “Yes?”

“Wonderful considerate person,” Potter said instead. 

Draco undid Potter’s pants and smirked when he felt Potter’s cock. “Potter, can I ask a question?”

“Um. Sure.”

“What is the adequate level of hardness you should be right now, considering I’ve only just touched you? From my understanding, being fully hard is not an appropriate response.”

“Shut up,” Potter mumbled. 

“No, I’m curious to know what you would consider– ” 

“I’ve been sucking your dick, Draco,” Potter said, a little louder than Draco would have dared without silencing charms. “Of course I’m hard. Are you going to suck me or not?”

“No need to get _testy_ – ” 

“If that’s a pun, I swear to god– ” 

Draco didn’t get to hear the rest of Potter’s threat because he silenced immediately when Draco closed his mouth around his cock. All those years of wanting to shut Potter up and it was really this easy all along. 

Potter was...very responsive, to put it respectfully. Draco watched as his eyes fluttered open and shut like he kept losing himself to the moment and then reminding himself he was putting on a show. Potter also made such delightfully loud noises, Draco worried someone was going to come bursting in and accuse Draco of torturing The Boy Who Lived. But there was no doubt Potter was enjoying himself. Especially when he ended on a soft sigh and came in Draco’s mouth. 

Draco swallowed and rested his head back on the cabinets below the sink. He felt vulnerable now. Sucking dick, he could take charge but in the aftermath of both their orgasms, he starting overthinking. Had he agreed too eagerly? Was he too obviously besotted with Potter? Should he have been more snarky about it to avoid suspicion? Definitely more snark was required, he decided. Next time, he'd be sure to– Draco stopped. There might not be a next time, he reminded himself. No use getting his hopes up. 

Potter was still catching his breath so Draco used the opportunity to sneak out of the bathroom.

“Hey,” Potter said, more breath than voice. “Are we- um- cool?”

“Cool as a carrot, Potter,” Draco said coolly. 

“Cucumber,” Potter offered. For seemingly no reason.

“What on earth would I want a cucumber for at this time? I’m going to bed.” 

“Um, okay, thank you,” Potter called out after him.

Draco stopped. “Please don’t ever thank me for sucking your dick again.” He flinched at his own use of the word again - Potter might think it presumptuous. 

“Why not? I thought you wanted me to be a gentleman?”

“Thanking me is creepy,” Draco explained. “Like it’s one-sided or something.”

“So it’s– um– not one-sided?”

“Of course not,” Draco said. “You sucked my dick first.”

“Of course,” Potter said after a short pause. “Night, Draco.”

“Goodnight...” Draco hesitated, tempted to try out Potter’s first name, but he paused for too long and ended up saying nothing at all. 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while so here's a recap:
> 
> A potions mishap (Potter's fault of course) has left Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter seeing through each other's eyes. Draco knows the cure but thinks it's hopeless, Potter doesn't. 
> 
> Draco has brewed a number of potions that confirm Harry Potter is his soulmate but Hermione's sceptical whether soulmates are real. Hermione & Draco have been secretly working on a potion to confirm if a) soulmates are real and b) if Draco is Potter's soulmate. 
> 
> Ronald eats with his mouth open. 
> 
> Potter's great with his mouth. 
> 
> That's about it.

“It’s ready.”

Draco took a deep breath, feeling the anxiety build in his stomach. Hermione’s whispered words were expected but he couldn’t help but react to them all the same. 

“What’s ready?” Potter asked, leaning in from Draco’s other side. He had a habit of sitting way too close these days. It was keeping Draco on edge.

“Do you ever mind your own business, Potter?” 

“No,” Ronald and Hermione answered in unison. 

Draco laughed weakly. He’d never admit it but there was a part of him – a very small insignificant part – that enjoyed hanging out with the golden trio. It was comforting seeing as he’d probably be stuck relying on Potter’s sight for the rest of his life. Unless–

Draco stood up and pulled Hermione with him.

“Where are you two going?” Ron asked.

“I guess I’m not the only one who doesn’t mind his own business,” mumbled Potter.

Ron laughed. “Mate, you’re delusional if you think asking a question is the same as basically stalk– ” 

Draco used the distraction to escape with Hermione to a small broom cupboard outside the Great Hall. It was far less romantic than it sounded – there was a mop sticking into Draco’s back and, of course, no Harry Potter. 

Hermione explained the final step – activating the potion. it required the soulmate seeking wizard’s wand to be placed in the potion, transferring the magical signature that would determine whose soulmate would be revealed on the potion’s surface. 

“How are you going to get Potter’s wand?” Draco asked.

“We don’t just need his wand. We need his eyes too.”

“Why? There's nothing in the method that– ” 

“So you’re just going to take my word for it when I tell you whose face appears in the potion?” 

Draco sighed, realising Hermione was right. As always. “Potter’s eyes it is.”

“That’s what I thought,” she said smugly. 

“But what are you going to say to him?”

“Easy. I’m working on a potential cure and I need his help. 

“Are you sure he’ll believe that? He can’t know, Hermione. If I’m not– I don’t want him to find out about me. It’s too humiliating.”

Even without his eyesight, Draco could tell when Hermione placed her hands on her hips – there really wasn’t much space in the cupboard. “It shouldn’t matter whose face appears, Draco. If you really like him– ” 

“I don’t– ” 

“Then,” Hermione interrupted, ignoring the very obvious lie, “it shouldn’t matter. You can just tell him how you feel."

“Yes, I’ll go right back into the Great Hall and recite poetry to him, shall I?”

“Don’t be snarky. I’m giving you good advice.”

“And I’m ignoring it. Let’s just stick to the plan.”

******

“Where’s Potter?” Draco asked Ron at lunch. Hermione wasn’t around either. She never said when they’d complete their plan but from the sickening feeling curling through Draco’s stomach, it was happening soon.

“I thought you’d know,” Ron replied through a mouthful of food.

“His eyes are closed,” Draco explained. They’d been closed ever since Defence class when Potter had been sitting next to Hermione. Shit. “You’re not worried he’s missing lunch?”

“He does this sometimes, goes missing. Although usually it’s because he’s– ” Ron laughed. “Well.”

“Because he’s what?”

“Following you.”

“Oh, you mean in sixth year.”

“Yeah,” Ronald said with so much sarcasm not even Professor Umbridge could miss it. “Sixth year. Sure.”

Draco filed that information in his brain’s scrapbook of hope which he knew he’d almost certainly be crushed under the weight of one day. The sickening feeling persisted. 

“What about Hermione?”

“What about her?” Ronald asked. 

Draco resisted the urge to make a snarky comment on Ronald’s intelligence. They’d become sort of friends. Maybe? It was all very confusing. 

“She’s not here, either,” Draco pointed out. 

Ronald was quiet for a moment – even his chewing stopped. “Are you jealous?” He asked. 

“Jealous of what?”

“More like who.”

“I’m not jealous of anyone.”

“So you’re telling me you don’t want to get into my best friend’s pants?”

Draco’s whole face heated up – the redness would give him away any second. “Do you have to be so crude?”

Ronald laughed. “Draco Malfoy has the hots for Harry Potter. Who would’ve thought?”

“Can you keep it down?” Draco whispered, leaning over the table and accidentally putting his hand in something wet. “It’s bad enough you know, no need to alert the entire Great Hall.”

“So when are you going to ask him out?”

Draco snorted and leant back, wiping his hand on his trousers. “Because it’s that simple.”

“It kinda is.”

“Fine. Maybe never.”

Ronald stayed silent but Draco could feel the judgment radiating from him. 

“Don’t bother giving me that look, Ronald,” Draco snapped, despite being effectively blind without Potter. "You and Hermione didn’t get together for seven years.”

Ronald ignored the perfectly valid point. “Ask him out. Trust me.”

There was something about the way he said it that gave Draco more fodder for his scrapbook of hopes. “What does that mean?”

“It means I know my best friend and you need to make a move immediately.”

“Has he said something about me?”

“Malfoy.”

“What did he say?” Draco asked excitedly. He’d given up on whispering. 

“All I’m saying is you won’t be disappointed. Don’t make me betray his confidence even more. Just borrow some Gryffindor courage for a day and get it done.”

“Does he– ”

“Don’t ask me any more questions, and stop smiling like that. It’s freaking me out.”

Draco knew there was a ridiculous grin on his face but he couldn’t get rid of it. He could read between Ronald’s unsubtle lines. Potter liked him, liked Draco. Enough to tell his best friend with the thankfully large mouth about it. Draco was on cloud nine. No, higher than that, he was on cloud nine hundred and forty-seven. 

When Hermione returned to fetch him with the whisper of “It’s happening,” in his ear, Draco didn’t even feel nervous anymore.

She’d left Potter alone in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom which was obviously a grave error. Myrtle had thrown a fit and started trying to drown Potter by flooding the bathroom. 

“Myrtle,” Draco called out as soon as he turned into the bathroom and felt the wetness creeping up his trouser leg. “Turn off the taps.”

“NO!” She yelled back. “There’s a MURDERER in my bathroom.”

“How can he be a murderer if I’m standing right here?”

“I could have killed you,” Potter’s voice whispered from the far side of the bathroom. 

“SEE!” Myrtle yelled. “Even he knows it.”

“Turn off the taps, Myrtle. I forgive him. I did far worse things.”

“You didn’t want to! You were always crying about it, Draco. Always saying you wished you could– “

“Yes Myrtle, I remember. No need to replay it for our audience,” Draco snapped. “It’s up to me whether I forgive Potter and up to Potter whether he forgives me.”

Myrtle made a disagreeable noise but the rushing sound of the taps finally subsided.

“Thank you,” Draco said with a nod in what he imagined was Myrtle’s direction. “Now, Potter, why do you insist on keeping me in the dark?”

Potter opened his eyes and Draco finally had sight of the bathroom. Myrtle had disappeared. 

“Habit,” Potter answered. “I don’t like being watched.”

“That’s not how I remember it,” Draco whispered, pleased when Potter made a surprised ‘oof’ sound in response. 

“Look here,” Hermione demanded of Draco, dragging him over to a stall and pushing his head down to face the potion, before turning to Harry and doing the same. 

The surface of the potion was perfectly still that Draco could see Potter’s face reflected in it. Soon, he’d see his own. 

“Now,” Hermione said in a shaky voice, “give it a mix with your wand, Harry.”

Potter pulled out his wand from his trousers and dipped it into the potion, the dark wood disappearing into thick Gryffindor red. 

The potion swirled for a moment with no change and then all at once as if it was always there, an image of a face appeared, blurry but forming. It was impossible to tell who it was as the potion continued to swirl but only one thing mattered: it wasn’t Draco. 

Draco had spent enough time staring at his own face in the mirror to know each line, each edge, and more significantly that his eyes weren’t brown. “Enough.”

Nobody moved. Potter kept staring into the potion so Draco nudged him – hard – until he stumbled back. He didn’t want to see Potter’s soulmate. If it wasn’t Draco, then it was none of his business. 

“Fuck you, Potter.”

“Excuse me?”

“We’re going to be stuck like this forever and it’s all your fault.” 

“Draco– ” 

“This is bullshit, Ronald said– “ Draco swivelled on the spot. “You must have done the potion wrong, Granger!”

Potter grabbed onto Draco’s robes from behind and yanked him back. “Don’t take it out on Hermione.”

“Fine.” Draco turned around and shoved Potter. “Fuck off, Potter.”

“Draco– ” Hermione started but Potter cut her off. 

“I’d forgotten you were such a prick, Malfoy.”

“And I’d forgotten you were– ” never going to be mine – “a prick too.”

“Original.”

“Oh whatever, Potter.”

“Draco– ” Hermione tired again but he was over it. 

Draco turned and stormed out, or at least he tried to. Instead, he slammed his face into what felt painfully like a doorframe and blacked out. So much for a dramatic exit. 

 

* * *

 

Draco came to with a horrible ache in his head, that couldn’t be completely blamed on doorframes. He wasn’t Harry Potter’s soulmate. Even Madam Pomfrey didn’t have a potion for that type of pain. 

“–don’t want to lie for you,” whispered a woman’s voice from nearby. Draco strained his ears to listen properly. 

“Then you should have left it alone,” a man’s voice whispered back.

“Harry,” the woman – Hermione – said, “you’re being ridiculous.”

“He’s being ridiculous.”

“You’re both being ridiculous,” Hermione amended. “Why can’t you just– ”

“Shhh. He’s awake.”

Draco cursed himself for reflexively trying to open his eyes. He’d only managed to alert Potter, and not changed a thing about his own sight. 

“Open your damn eyes, Potter.”

Thankfully, Potter obeyed without a fight, and Draco’s own body came into view laying on a hospital bed.

“About time,” Potter muttered.

“Next time you’re attacked by a doorframe, let me know how long it takes you to recover.”

“You weren’t attack– ”

“Harry,” Hermione interrupted, “don’t give Madam Pomfrey an excuse to kick you out.”

Draco rolled over in his hospital bed, facing away from them both. “Go away,” he said.It was childish but it was he manage. 

He heard someone get up and walk away, but his vision didn’t change. Great. 

“What do you want, Potter?”

“To kiss you.”

Draco’s stomached flipped. “Excuse me?”

“To kiss– ”

“Yeah, I heard you the first time, you weirdo. What would be the point?” Draco held his breath, waiting for Potter’s response. 

“Could be fun. I’ve heard people do it for enjoyment now and then.”

Draco rolled back over. “Not with someone they hate.”

“You don’t hate me.”

Draco sighed. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Come on,” Potter whispered, “just kiss me. I want to show you something.”

“Oh good,” Madam Pomfrey said, leaning down between them to place some unsightly liquid by Draco’s bedside. “You’ve told him.”

“No,” Draco tried to correct her, “he– ”

“I suggest you both kiss before Mr Malfoy takes the Pepper-Up Potion. There’s no point in you both suffering. If this works, you’ll both feel a bit unbalanced as your sight returns to you, so I suggest we keep you here for the rest of the night. In separate beds, of course.”

“Madam Pomfrey, he doesn’t know,” Draco protested, but it was too late. 

“Oh, well he certainly does now. I’ll leave you two in privacy. Call out when it’s all over.”

“You knew from the start there was a cure, didn’t you?” Potter accused. 

“There’s no cure, Potter. It’s impossible.” 

“But you knew.”

“Yes, of course. To return what you miss, all you ever need is true love’s kiss. It’s in practically every wizarding fairytale,” Draco explained.

“Kiss me,” Potter insisted again. The poor hopeful idiot. 

“Aren’t you listening? It’s pointless. You won’t get your sight back.”

“Then kiss me for fun.”

“Potter– ”

“Go on. Just to tell Madam Pomfrey we’ve tried it. Process of elimination. We have to try.” Potter leaned in.

Draco couldn’t understand what was happening. Maybe he was still dreaming. Maybe he’d hit his head so hard, he couldn’t tell dreams from reality any more. He took a deep breath in and felt Harry’s presence fill him up. “You’re cheating,” he mumbled.

“How?”

“You smell nice,” Draco told dream Harry.

Harry laughed and his breath felt warm on Draco’s face. “Go on,” he urged again.

So Draco kissed dream Harry Potter right on his dream lips. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hit me up on [tumblr](http://queenofthyme.tumblr.com/) for more drabbles and things or check out my other works on ao3 <3  
>   
> More like this:  
> [The Softer Side of Draco Malfoy (30k)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9822929)


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